


Fallout

by BurntWhisky1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Romance, Attraction, Auror Harry Potter, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-07-09 20:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19894084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurntWhisky1/pseuds/BurntWhisky1
Summary: A slow burn, angsty fic set a few years after the end of The Deathly Hallows. The lives of Auror Harry and ex-Death Eater Draco collide when Harry is on an investigation. The eventual fallout affects everyone they know.





	1. Unexpected encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all of you who read, leave kudos and positive comments. You really make my day and you are the only reason I post what I write.

It was strangely peaceful, sitting on the bench in the dappled shade, feet planted firmly on the floor in front of him and an inoffensive expression on the pugnacious face that was not his own. I'm hiding in plain sight, thought Harry with a little huff of amusement, his glamoured fingers curled squat and hairy on the muggle newspaper resting on his lap and his memories winding back to countless daring exploits when he was anything but in plain sight, unseen beneath his invisibility cloak back in the days of Hogwarts and Voldemort.

Regent's Park was a tranquil oasis, with a gentle trickle of people strolling or jogging along the wide path; it felt a million miles away from the bustle of the city streets and the crowds pouring in and out of London Zoo. It was an unlikely place for a stake-out, but if Harry's informant was correct then there just might be a glimpse of elusive potion smugglers making a trade. It was a long shot at best and the itch building at Harry's hairline told him his disguise was close to disintegration. It seemed he would have to return on another day.

He folded the newspaper in a deliberate manner in keeping with his current staid appearance and sat forward, directing his gaze idly at the benches spaced along the path. His upright position brought into view a figure seated a couple of benches further down, previously partially obscured by a young mother and the vast, cushioned sides of her state-of-the-art stroller. Something about the man caught his eye; perhaps it was the black leather jacket, cut in a style that had often tempted Harry to part with a fair few galleons, or perhaps it was the general air of depression somehow conveyed by the man's posture, sitting forwards as he was with his elbows resting on the knees of his long jean-clad legs, hands hanging loose and the curl of smoke from a forgotten cigarette rising up past his lowered head. More likely though, it was the colour of his hair, so blond it was almost white when the sun peeked through the leaves and danced across it, seeming to set it ablaze with a silver-gold fire.

Despite its physical beauty, that pale hair caused a cold shiver to run down Harry's spine, bringing to mind the smooth slide of Lucius Malfoy's blond mane against his cloak, and the slicked back shine of the younger Malfoy's head on that very first day at Hogwarts. "You don't want to be making friends with the wrong sort." Those words had been the start of years of enmity that sputtered out in a molten puddle of confusion and fear around about the time of the fiendfyre.

Harry shook himself mentally; Malfoys didn't wear jeans and boots and slouch on park benches in the middle of the day, not even in Royal Parks.

The man's shoulders moved uneasily, almost as though he felt the weight of Harry's stare. He took a final drag on his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and crushing it beneath the sole of his boot. Long fingers ran through wind tousled hair and the man stood, the gracefulness of the movement blurring as he hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. He walked slowly past the bench, the gaze from his silver-grey eyes drifting over Harry's false facade of portly middle-age and moving on, uninterested.

Harry caught his breath, surprise clenching in his chest. The gaunt teenager who had been the bane of his student life at Hogwarts was no more. Bony shoulders that had held promise now showed the strength and breadth of a man, and legs that were long and skinny now revealed a play of lean muscle beneath denim. The haggard, exhausted face of war had filled out and smoothed, jawbone stronger, with the symmetrical facial curves of the young boy on the steps of Hogwarts still visible but now honed into the elegance of adulthood. It was unmistakably Draco Malfoy.

For a moment Harry was frozen, with the shock of the unexpected encounter stealing strength from his limbs. Then his thoughts were tumbling; how, why was the boy...man... here? Was it a coincidence? Was Malfoy involved with the potion smugglers? It seemed unlikely he would need to stoop to such activities, but who knew what an ex-Death Eater did for a living.

Pushing himself to his feet, Harry strode after him, remembering to walk with a ponderous gait and fervently wishing that the legs of his disguise were as long as his real ones. Malfoy drew steadily further ahead, until the path twisted and turned through some bushes and he disappeared from sight. By the time Harry got to other side of the leafy screen, the arch-enemy of his school years was gone. He dashed through a wrought iron gate onto the street, cursing, only to be brought to an abrupt standstill by the harsh blatter of a big motorcycle. Malfoy swept past him, curled over the handlebars so he appeared as one with the machine. He rode like he flew, thought Harry, full of arrogance and natural grace and thumbing his nose at the world.

...

2 days later. 

Draco walked quietly, keeping to the shadows, their darkness matching his mood of prevailing depression. He had sensed he was being followed at the station, picking up two faint ripples of magical energy as he stepped onto the platform. It was enough of a trace to be certain they were wizards, but weak enough that they were quickly lost in the bustling hum of humanity in the concourse.

It wasn't Potter, of that much he was sure; he always knew when it was Potter. After all, the Gryffindor had spent years following him around, and the familiar vibration of his magic that announced his presence was individual and unmistakable. It was a vibration he hadn't felt for a long time and had thought he would never feel again, until two days before when he'd suddenly become aware of the familiar ripple trailing behind him. 

Now, Draco moved cautiously along the street, not sure if he'd shaken off his pursuers. It was becoming more frequent, this deadly dance of pursuit and threat. Day by day it wore him down, stress chipping away at his fragile defences and combining with the exhaustion of nightmare-ridden nights to drag him ever deeper into despair. He had no real means to protect himself, not with his wand seized and a ministerial ban against his use of magic. So Draco slipped through the night, avoiding the circles of light beneath the street lamps, feeling alone and vulnerable, no longer sure why he was bothering to run from a fate that seemed inevitable.

Ahead of him lay one of the civic buildings that were common in that area of the city. It was closed for the night and shrouded in darkness apart from the artfully angled pools of light that illuminated fancy curlicues of stone and pillars carved in the style of Ancient Greece. The shadows that lay between and behind the pillars were dense and it was to these that Draco headed. If he could reach the far side of the building, it would be possible to cut across the dark swathe of grass that lay at its rear, scale a low wall and lose his pursuers in the rabbit warren of streets beyond.

He moved swiftly, had reached the top of a short flight of stone steps when he heard the scuff of a shoe against pavement behind him, much closer than expected. There was no time to react before the curse hit him between the shoulder blades, its impact so great that he was thrown forwards and down. His natural agility, honed by years of Seeker training, enabled him to tuck into a defensive position as he fell. If it hadn't been for the pillar at the bottom of the steps there was a fair chance that he would have rolled, recovered himself and attempted an escape. As it was, although he threw himself as much to the side in mid-flight as possible, the tip of his left shoulder slammed into the upright structure, and in turn that physical impact altered his trajectory enough that his temple met with the stone with an audible crack. Without making a sound, he sprawled onto the cold slabs behind the pillar, limbs splayed in a boneless manner and only the glimmer of his pale hair visible in the shadows. 

There was a whoop of excitement in the street and the sound of running feet that had no further cause to be stealthy. 

"You got him!" 

The taller of the two men took the steps in a hurry, the faint light emitted from the end of his wand showing Draco's crumpled figure.

"You bastard!"

He poked his victim none too gently with the toe of his shoe and addediin a venemous tone, "And now you pay!" 

"What you going to do to him, Al?"

His companion's voice was high-pitched with nerves, as though his enjoyment of the pursuit had been spoiled by the capture of the prey.

"Give him this...and this!"

A dull thudding accompanied Al's words as he set to with feet and fists.

The nervous grin on the second man's face gradually faded, replaced by an uneasy frown. He stepped forwards cautiously and sent a small ball of light to hover over the proceedings. When the ferocity of the attack was revealed to him, he shuffled anxiously.

"Hey mate, I think he's had enough there." 

Al snarled, bloodlust in his eyes.

"I haven't even started yet. Remember what his lot did to my Abbie?"

"Wasn't him though."

The shorter man took a few hesitant steps away.

"They're all locked up in Azkaban." 

His companion ignored him and pawed at Draco's prone figure, rolling him face down on the slabs. Blood gleamed dark and wet in the pale hair and the shorter man abruptly extinguished the ball of light, his voice wavering. 

"I don't want to get involved in this."

He waited apprehensively a minute or two longer, until the muffled sounds coming from the shadows drew nauseating pictures in his mind. Then, with a final sound of protest, he withdrew.


	2. Fear

Gentle fingers caressed Draco's hair, a soft voice speaking in his ear.

"Draco. Draco...come on, darling. You need to get up now."

It was warm and dark and pleasantly quiet. He mumbled a protest, wanting to sleep; he was so tired.

"No, Draco. Don't go to sleep. You must get up now. Please, darling, for me."

The voice was insistent, familiar, loved. A stab of grief penetrated the darkness, reminding him that his mother was dead, gone. He fought his way awake then, sure he had heard her voice, desperate to see if she was there, the only person who had loved him without reservation.

It was dark, the floor hard stone, gritty under his cheek and palms.

"Mother?"

Nothing but the hum of traffic, coothel night air chill upon his skin. He raised himself enough to look around but there was no-one there, just the dark shadows behind the stone pillars where he lay. He remembered trying to reach them, then...nothing.

The pain came then; it seemed to be everywhere, compromising his ability to breathe properly, to move, to think. He made it up onto his hands and knees, then to his feet by sheer force of will. Dizzy, sick, confused by the tangle of jeans around his knees. He pulled them up, thinking one of his fingers seemed to be broken, not choosing to think about anything else, because if he did he would tip over into the bottomless pit of fear and horror that lay before him.

"Go home, Draco." His mother's voice again. "Don't worry about anything now. Just go home."

She wasn't really there, Draco knew, but it was the only comfort he had, so he wrapped an arm around the grating of his ribs and took one unsteady step after another, away from the shadows where something bad had happened.

It took him a long time and everything he had in him to get back to the small but expensive flat near Regent's Park. Dawn was lightening the sky by the time he fumbled the key into the lock and shut the door behind him. He let himself pass out then, crumpling onto the waxed wooden floor. His last fleeting thought was that if he died no-one would care, but at least it would be in private.

... 

It had been four days since Harry had seen Malfoy in Regent's Park; four days with no sign of any illegal potions traders, with no sign of any known persons of bad character. With every hour that passed the likelihood that their contact had been Malfoy had become more likely.

Harry's feelings veered sharply from frustration at the lack of progress in the case, to an unexpected disappointment that Malfoy may be involved. After all they'd been through, after making a stand for him in front of the Wizengamot, Harry had hoped that Malfoy had changed his ways and was making a respectable living somewhere.

Unsure whether he was attempting to prove the ex-Slytherin guilty or innocent, Harry had pulled his file. The contents of most of the flimsy sheets of parchment were of no surprise to him. It was the neatly scribed notes relating to the period after the Wizengamot trial that caused Harry's eyebrows to raise. Although he'd been aware that Malfoy's wand was not returned to him, he'd had no idea that his use of magic was forbidden altogether, even to the extent that he was not allowed to have magic done on his behalf, such as side-along apparition or the use of magical potions. The terms of his probation made clear he should expect monitoring by the Auror department and that any breach of the conditions imposed would result in his immediate incarceration in Azkaban.

The contents of the file left a bad taste in Harry's mouth and played on his mind as he resumed his vigil in the park. What would a Pureblood, denied the use of his magic, be able to do in the post-Voldemort world? Would he perhaps be forced to resort to nefarious activities to make a living? And why did it have to be him, Harry, assigned to this particular case? Had he not had enough years worrying about Malfoy? Was fate about to bring them together again?

It was therefore with a sense of foreboding that he stepped past the gents' toilets in the middle of the park and allowed his feet to lead him along the same path through the shrubbery that Malfoy had taken four days earlier. It seemed somehow inevitable when Malfoy was there, stepping through the wrought iron gates by the bushes, his face white and surprised as he stared at Harry.

The ex-Death Eater did not look well, his elegant features now marred by scrapes and bruises and his lips split and swollen. The auror in Harry automatically noted the stiffness of the man's stance and the shadow of fear in his eyes.

"Malfoy. Still finding trouble then."

The words tumbled out before Harry could stop them. He regretted their unprofessionalism immediately.

"Potter."

Weary resignation twisted Malfoy's expression and he sighed, his long fingers trembling across his cut lip in an unconscious gesture.

"If I was going to just bump into anyone, I suppose it had to be you."

Harry straightened his shoulders, suddenly conscious that the other man was a few inches taller.

"I was looking for you. We need to talk. Official business."

"Leave me alone, Potter. I've done nothing wrong."

Harry frowned, struggling to regain a sense of professional detachment. It had always been difficult to remain detached where Malfoy was concerned and this was not the meeting he had envisaged.

The longer he looked at the man the more he could tell that the injuries were not superficial. The light breeze stirring Malfoy's blond hair revealed that there were clumps that appeared to be matted together with blood and his stance was all wrong, devoid of its normal grace and confidence, seeming instead taut and unsteady. 

He swallowed, fell back on his training and let a reassuring note enter his voice. 

"Are you in trouble? I can help if you are."

Malfoy stared at him, disbelief on his battered features. 

"Why are you here? And why would you help me?"

Oh, I don't know." Harry snapped, irritated despite himself. "Perhaps it's because that's what people do, help each other."

He took a deep breath, calming himself and recalling that Malfoy was injured and had always pushed his buttons more easily than anyone else he knew.

"What happened to you?"

"Someone decided to teach me a lesson, Death Eater and all that...I'm sure you are familiar with the situation." 

"You need to go to St. Mungo's."

"There's really no point, Potter. They don't treat my sort at St Mungo's."

"They have to!"

Indignation at this ridiculous statement made Harry's face flush. 

"They can't anyway."

Malfoy wiped at the sweat on his forehead.

"I'm on probation remember? No magical interference of any kind."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Go and play Auror somewhere else, will you? I don't fancy a trip back to Azkaban."

"Are you involved in something? Is that why you're here?" 

Malfoy shook his head slightly, his eyes grey as storm clouds as they met Harry's for a brief moment, then slid away as though he'd lost interest in the sorry proceedings.

"I just wanted to feel the sun..."

He shivered, speaking more to himself than Harry as he turned his face towards the yellow light.

"It's so cold."

"You look like shit," said Harry bluntly.

It was the truth anyway; Malfoy looked as though he was about to faint and the day was warm, muggy; if the man was cold he was probably in some sort of shock.

"If you won't see a doctor, at least let me take you home. Where do you live now?"

Malfoy snorted. "As if you don't know."

"I don't," said Harry sharply. "You need help Draco. You're not going to be able to get there by yourself."

Despite the grim set of his face, the other man did not disagree. 

"Has anyone even looked at your injuries?" Harry asked quietly.

Malfoy shook his head mutely.

With a mutter of disgust about the injustices of the world, Harry pulled out his mobile.

"You know what? It doesn't matter where you live. I'm taking you to the nearest NHS hospital, so you'd better tell me now if any of these injuries are magical, 'cos they don't look magical."

They didn't feel magical either; there was no faint ripple of energy left by magic, except perhaps in a small area high on Malfoy's back. 

"Just one stunning spell."

Malfoy looked nauseated.

"I don't want to go to the muggle hospital." 

That was it then, the small area must be where the stunning spell had hit.

"Tough, taxi is on its way. Seriously Malfoy, you need to get treatment, especially as no-one can do a diagnostic spell on you."

Harry edged a little closer, unsure if Malfoy would be able to remain on his feet until the taxi arrived. The other man retreated slightly until he was holding the railings, his pale fingers a stark contrast with the black paint.

"Do you have muggle ID? A muggle identity?" 

"Of course."

Malfoy sounded irritated.

"Mother could see the way things were going. She wasn't a fool."

Wasn't. Past tense. Harry raked his fingers through his hair, suddenly awkward. 

"I'm sorry, about your mother."

Malfoy didn't reply but an expression flitted across his face that was pure grief, before he replaced it with his usual impassive mask. Harry suspected it would not have slipped at all if he wasn't so injured. 

Cont... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos make me very happy x


	3. Trust or necessity?

It was complete bedlam in the ER waiting area; Harry edged past a woman puking into a pressed cardboard dish and headed for the Triage queue, taking a numbered ticket from the wall dispenser and towing Malfoy along with him by keeping a firm grip on his upper arm. Malfoy, off-balance, bumped into him when he stopped and hissed.

"I don't want to be here, Potter."

"Well you are, so you might as well make the best of it."

This prompted a very Malfoyesque scowl, but surprisingly he then went quiet, his grey eyes roaming over the vast variety of miserable people, finally settling on a wailing toddler with her arm in a temporary plaster cast and a steady stream of snot descending from her nose. He stared at her for a while and then muttered something under his breath.

"What?"

Harry knew he sounded impatient, but this wasn't the place for one of Malfoy's snits.

"Barbaric. It's barbaric."

"Well, you'll just have to wait. Stop whining."

Malfoy looked at him, expression confused, then his face hardened.

"It's barbaric how she has to cry like that, when a simple episkey or a potion, but of course you would think I meant...never mind."

Harry winced, feeling his cheekbones go red. It was so easy to react in the way he always had where Malfoy was concerned but the simple truth was they hadn't seen each other for years. He'd changed since the war, so perhaps the other man had too.

Beside him, the subject of his thoughts gave a weary sigh and leaned gingerly against the wall, looking wistfully at the lines of brown plastic seats, all currently occupied. Whatever benefit he'd felt from the ride in the taxi was clearly evaporating with every second on his feet, and they hadn't even got as far as the Triage Nurse yet.

"Ten minutes," said Harry encouragingly. "It says ten minutes to the nurse, then we might be able to find a seat."

Malfoy ignored him, keeping his head down, his eyes partially obscured by the soft fall of pale hair. He really didn't look well. 

"Malfoy?"

"I think I might sit on the floor."

"What? No. Here, lean on me."

Without waiting for permission, Harry closed the gap between them.

"Put your arm around my shoulders; let me take some of the weight."

Malfoy grimaced but complied, his arm rigid with embarrassment.

Conversation would probably make things easier, but for the life of him Harry couldn't think of a single thing to say. Instead they stood in silence, the arm around Harry's shoulders gradually relaxing as Malfoy settled into a warm weight against his side.

In an odd sort of way it was nice, that close physical contact with another human being, even if it was Draco Malfoy. It made Harry realise that since he'd split with Ginny there hadn't been much in the way of physical contact, other than the odd hug from Hermione or Luna or back slap from Ron. He'd felt too emotionally bruised to even consider expanding his existing circle of friends let alone anything else. So yes, it was odd but nice, this contact that would not have occurred under any other circumstance.

The queue in front of them shuffled forwards a few steps and Harry moved after them slowly, suddenly very conscious that Malfoy's thigh was shaking against his own, that his elegant jaw was inches away from Harry's cheek and that his eyelashes were long and fine and pale gold.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, surprising even himself. "For, y'know, thinking..."

"Still verbose then, Potter." There was a little sigh, a warm puff of air against Harry's cheek. "It's alright. Why wouldn't you think that."

"You're right though. I hate seeing these people like this; it would be so easy..."

Harry waved his hand in a truncated spell-like motion.

"Please don't. They'd find a way to blame me, filthy Death Eater and all that."

Malfoy shifted uneasily, his breath catching and his teeth sinking into his lip for a moment.

"Why is it you're still here anyway?"

"Because you need help."

"Not tired of the mantle of saviour then?" There was a hint of mockery in his tone.

"I never wanted that," said Harry firmly. "I don't want that. I just did what I had to do."

Malfoy nodded slowly. "I suppose I should thank you. I don't think I ever did, did I?"

"I didn't see you, not after the trials. Everything was..."

Harry shrugged. Everything had been a mess, was still a mess, would quite possibly always be a mess.

"Yes, quite."

No need for Malfoy to ask what he meant. Things had been a mess for him too and it looked like they still were.

They shuffled forward another few paces, Malfoy's weight increasing incrementally at each step. There was only one person left in front of them in the queue and that was a good thing, thought Harry, not sure how much longer he'd be able to keep Malfoy upright as casting a spell was out of the question.

"Potter...I, don't..."

It was the only warning he had as the blond head suddenly dipped forwards, catching him sharply on the cheekbone. Long legs buckled, tangling with his own and despite his grip on Malfoy's waist they went down in a heap, Malfoy a surprisingly heavy, limp weight in his arms.

"Merlin!"

There was a sudden rush of feet and then gloved hands descended, checking the pulse in the long line of Malfoy's throat and then lifting him away and onto a trolley. Harry trotted after them into the illusory privacy of a curtained cubicle, keeping himself out of the way and surprised to find he was a bit shaky and that Malfoy's limp vulnerability was unexpectedly upsetting, bringing back memories of sectumsempra and flooded bathrooms.

"Are you together?" 

Harry jumped, torn out of his thoughts.

"Er, yes? No. He's a friend."

"I need to take some details from you. If you could just follow me."

He hesitated, reluctant to leave Malfoy, who was capable of causing a major magical incident if he came to and panicked, not realising where he was.

"It won't take a moment," said the volunteer kindly, obviously mistaking his reluctance for distress. "I'll bring you straight back to him." 

"Okay," said Harry. "I, er, don't know many details though. We lost touch years ago, we just met up again recently."

He followed the woman to the reception window, thankful Malfoy had told him his muggle identity was in his own name. He answered the other questions as well as he could with his limited knowledge of the facts, and confirmed he was a friend and was prepared to stay. Then finally he was free to return to the cubicle.

"Do you know what happened to him?"

The male nurse leaning over Malfoy asked in a grim tone. 

"No," admitted Harry. "But he looked pretty beaten up. I thought he ought to come in and get checked over." 

"You did the right thing." 

As he spoke the nurse stepped away from the bed and Malfoy's body was no longer obscured. Harry caught his breath in shock. The other man's torso was a mass of weals and bruises, the clear imprint of a boot sole easily distinguishable. Despite his auror training it made him feel physically sick; how Malfoy had remained upright so long was a mystery. 

Something of Harry's shock must have shown upon his face, for the nurse's frown eased, replaced by sympathy.

"You know him well?"

"Not really, well yes, I suppose. We've known each other since we were eleven. We went to school together."

"Ah, good. It's very reassuring to have a mate around when something like this happens. We'll know more when he's seen the doctor and been to x-ray. You sit tight now and someone will be along to fetch him soon."

The nurse flicked a light sheet over Malfoy's stomach and chest and pushed his way out through the curtain. 

A mate, thought Harry, bemused and not at all sure his ex-nemesis would be overly pleased at that thought.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, the auror in him piecing together some theories about the sort of attack that would leave that type of injuries. There was no doubt it had been vicious in its ferocity. Eventually a small sound alerted him to the fact that the other man was regaining consciousness. Malfoy raised a hand, his fingers scrabbling at the oxygen mask fixed to his face.

"It's okay," said Harry hurriedly. "It's to help you breathe."

He caught hold of Malfoy's fingers and placed his hand back on the sheet, speaking reassuringly. 

"The doctor will be here soon. They'll fix you up."

"I'd really rather go home."

The words were muffled by the mask, but unmistakable.

"Just hang on a bit longer, okay? They'll give you something to make you feel better, then if you want to go, we'll go." 

Grey eyes met his, the misery in them acute. It was odd, thought Harry; it was probably the longest the two of them had ever spent in close proximity without fighting.

Shortly afterwards a doctor arrived and Harry was politely but firmly sent to wait on a chair in the corridor. Although he could hear the low murmur of voices through the curtain he couldn't distinguish what was said, although once Malfoy's voice rose in a sharp denial. A nurse left and then returned with a small box tucked under her arm. A few minutes later she was gone and then the doctor emerged; he paused with one hand on the curtain, looking back over his shoulder. 

"Take a few minutes," he said. "Someone will take you to x-ray and get you cleaned up."

He twitched the curtain into place and moved on to the next cubicle.

There was a small gap in the curtains. If Harry leaned to the right he could see that Malfoy was lying on his side, with his back to the corridor. His figure was long and lean beneath the hospital sheet and his shoulders were shaking.

Cont... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos feed the muse!


	4. Saving Malfoy

When they wheeled Malfoy out of the cubicle he kept his face turned away so Harry had only a brief glimpse of dishevelled, pale hair before he was whisked away down the corridor.

"You can wait here," the elderly volunteer lady told him. "He'll be in x-ray for a while and then they'll make a decision on whether or not to admit him."

Harry thanked her and settled back into his corner, casting a surreptitious cushioning charm on the hard seat. A delicate, wandless, tripwire charm ensured no-one would be able to sneak up on him, which meant he could relax his guard and let his mind drift. Over the years he'd found letting his thoughts flow around a problem suited him better than Hermione's logical and active approach to problem solving.

More than an hour had elapsed before Malfoy's sharp tones interrupted his meditative state.

"I'd rather not stay, thank you."

"I understand that, Mr Malfoy, but you really do require medical care. If you sign yourself out the Trust can't be held responsible if you take a turn for the worse. You shouldn't be by yourself."

"I'm not by myself."

Malfoy came to a halt, scowling and gesturing at Harry. The nurse looked distinctly relieved.

"You'll be seeing Mr Malfoy home? Ah, good. And he will have company for at least the next 36 hours?"

"Er," said Harry, about to say he wasn't sure, but catching a glimpse of something behind Malfoy's scowl that looked suspiciously like desperation. "Yes, of course."

He put on his most earnest expression and moved to stand next to Malfoy to reinforce his words.

"If there's any change, you bring him straight back."

The nurse turned his attention to Malfoy.

"Other than that, see your practice nurse in a couple of days to get that dressing changed. You can pick up your prescription at the desk on the way out."

"Thank you." Malfoy began to back away.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk to anyone?"

"Quite sure." There it was again, that edge of desperation.

"Well if you change your mind..."

"Yes, thank you."

With that, Malfoy fled, walking swiftly away on his long legs and forcing Harry to jog for a few paces to catch up.

"Hey, wait! We've got to pick up your prescription."

Malfoy stopped abruptly, causing Harry to swerve to avoid running into him. He thrust the script in Harry's direction.

"Would you mind, Potter?"

Harry took it, eyeing him warily.

"Where will you be? You'll wait for me, right? I don't want to be running all over London looking for you."

"I need some air," said Malfoy sharply, turning on his heel and walking unsteadily towards the main entrance doors.

Reluctantly, Harry headed towards the dispensary, casting a quick glance over his shoulder as he did so. He caught a glimpse of Malfoy's blond head on the far side of the glass and decided to hope for the best.

To his relief the medicine was dispensed without too much delay and appeared to be a broad spectrum antibiotic, an ointment for bruises and some heavy-duty painkillers. He scribbled a quick signature and rushed outside to find Malfoy standing in a patch of shade, eyes closed and feet planted firmly on a square of patchy grass. He turned towards Harry slowly, lashes lifting to reveal eyes that appeared almost silver in the light reflected from the hospital windows. He looked ethereal, Harry thought, an exhausted fallen angel, surrounded by discarded cigarette butts and sweet wrappers.

"Where do you live, Malfoy?"

The other man reached out and snared the pharmacy bag.

"I can manage from here, Potter."

"You didn't manage too well on the way here," noted Harry drily. "Besides, you heard the doctor; you can't be by yourself. So, what was that about anyway? Concussion?"

"Yes. So as you can imagine I'd rather not stand here chatting."

The words did not have the customary Malfoy sting. In fact, the pull at the corner of his mouth and the angle of his shoulders were sure indications that he was both in pain and finding it difficult to hold himself together. It occurred to Harry that he should be surprised he could tell so much just by looking at Malfoy, but then he remembered the years of close observation of possibly nefarious activities and put the uncomfortable thought away.

He didn't bother responding, simply taking out his mobile and fast-dialling the taxi firm he used for non-magical journeys. When his raised eyebrows brought forth only a scowl from Malfoy, Harry gave the name of an address close to Grimmauld Place.

"If I can't come to your place, then I s'pose you'll just have to stay with me for a few days. I'll tell the house not to offer you any magical assistance."

A weary smile tugged at the side of Malfoy's mouth.

"It must be quite a bind, having to save everyone all the time."

Again though, the rancour was missing and when the taxi turned up, Malfoy simply slipped into the backseat without protest.  
.

The taxi was old and smelly and creaked on bends, but frankly Draco didn't care. By the time it turned up he was perilously close to passing out again and he just couldn't allow that to happen. He'd hunched into himself, his fists clenched tight in his jacket pockets and his gaze fixed on Potter's familiar face, while he tried to ignore the way the ground was rolling uneasily beneath his feet.

He really didn't care if Potter took him to Grimmauld Place. He could vaguely remember the place from a visit or two when he was a small child and, whoever owned it now, it was a Black family property and he was as much a Black as a Malfoy. The one place he didn't want Potter to take him was his own flat, not because he didn't want Potter to know where he lived, but because he simply didn't feel safe there any more. To be brutally honest, he didn't feel safe anywhere and frankly being in the vicinity of the wizarding world's hero was probably his best bet.

Once inside the taxi he pushed himself into the corner, leaning tight against the door, making sure to keep his hands in his pockets so Potter couldn't see how much they were shaking.

"Alright there?"

Potter's intense green eyes studied him from the other side of the car. He had a familiar crease in his forehead, the one that said he was concerned, although Draco wasn't sure why he knew this to be the case.

"Yeah," he said, knowing his voice slurred with exhaustion and not caring. All he wanted to do was lie down in a dark room and sleep forever. All things considered, he wasn't too bothered if he woke up or not.

He must have dozed because it seemed to be only seconds later that someone touched his forearm and gave it a little shake. Draco flinched, scooting further into his corner before he could stop himself.

"Hey, it's only me. Sorry."

Potter looked startled, drawing back.

"We're here."

Draco swallowed, nodded despite the throbbing in his head and escaped out of the door before he did something unforgiveably stupid like bursting into tears.  
  


Cont... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos and comments; I do appreciate them :)


	5. Grimmauld Place

When Potter shut the front door on the world, the cool silence of 12 Grimmauld Place settled around them. The innate magic of the house reached out with silken fingers to caress Draco's skin, transmitting a distinct feeling of pleasure at his presence.

Draco flinched, half expecting aurors to appear to whisk him away to Azkaban.

"It's okay," said Potter. "The house knows it can't use magic to directly assist you."

He tilted his head, eyebrows raised in surprised amusement.

"It knows who you are. It's happy you're here."

"Yes," said Draco quietly, finding the delicate tickle of magic had brought a lump to his throat; it seemed such a long time since he'd felt any magic at all other than the roiling discontent of his own constrained and frustrated magical core.

"It's nice to feel it again."

"Feel? Oh, magic. Right...Merlin."

The look of compassion on Potter's face was unexpected and Draco was horrified to feel his eyes smarting. What was wrong with him? He was a Malfoy and if nothing else at the very least he should know how to keep a stiff upper lip.

He tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, quite forgetting the state of his ribs, and the resultant stab of pain made him gasp and grimace before he could stop himself. Immediately Potter's hand was on his elbow. Although every nerve screamed at him to pull away, Draco found himself too dizzy to move. He concentrated instead on breathing; short, shallow puffs of air.

Potter's voice seemed to come from the far end of an echoing tunnel.

"Do you need to sit down, Malfoy? Yeah, of course you do. I'm sorry. C'mon, it's just through here."

Draco allowed himself to be led through a dark doorway and into a surprisingly modern-looking room. Potter lowered him carefully into an upright but comfortable leather armchair, sliding a cushion behind him so that Draco was upright enough to breathe but reclined enough to relax.

Potter waited beside him in silence, then suddenly blurted.

"Look, I don't know what your injuries are, and erm, you don't have to tell me. It's just, if you did, I'd know what to do to make you more comfortable. While you're here."

Draco gave him a wan smile. "Really? No extendable ears these days?"

Potter flushed and dragged his fingers through his wayward hair.

"No." He paused for a moment, then added, "Well yes, but it didn't seem fair, you know, with you getting muggle treatment."

"Of course; only fair play for Harry Potter."

"It's not like that...oh stuff you Malfoy."

He was still flushed and off-balance. Draco smirked weakly at him, enjoying the spectacle; in fact it was probably the high point of his day, although he wasn't quite sure why.

Potter regarded him for a moment longer, the red stain on his cheekbones making his eyes seem greener than ever. He'd grown into himself, thought Draco; he was taller, broader across the shoulders, his t-shirt tight enough to show the play of muscle beneath the fabric. His hair was more styled but still unruly and the short beard suited him, defining his features and balancing the effect of the thick, dark eyebrows.

Belatedly Draco became aware that he was staring and he looked away quickly.

"I'm going to make a pot of tea," said Potter, sounding rather strangled. "I'll, er, bring you a cup."

He rushed off, letting the door drift to behind him. Draco sighed, shifting uncomfortably on the chair and hoping Potter came back soon so he didn't have time to think about anything else too deeply.  
.

  
When Harry pushed his way back through the door, a steaming mug of tea in each hand and a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits floating behind him, he saw an unmistakable look of relief pass over Malfoy's face before his features settled back into their current drawn expression.

"Tea," said Harry unnecessarily, balancing a mug on the wide arm of Malfoy's chair.

"Thanks."

Malfoy held the mug carefully in both hands, although even this precaution couldn't disguise the way his fingers trembled. He sipped and closed his eyes briefly before turning his gaze on Harry.

"Perfect. How did you know how I like my tea?"

To his annoyance Harry found himself blushing again.

"We had breakfast in the same room for years," he noted, not wanting to think about the fact that he must've watched Malfoy pretty intently to know how he preferred his tea.

Neither the heightened colour nor the fact were lost on the other man, who smirked at him again. Oddly, Harry didn't find the expression as annoying as it used to be at Hogwarts, it being preferable to lines of pain on Malfoy's face.

By the time the mugs of tea and half the packet of biscuits had gone, it was apparent that Malfoy was struggling to stay awake.

"C'mon," Harry said quietly. "I've got a room ready. There's a bathroom on the same floor so it'll be easier for you."

Malfoy blinked at him slowly and pushed himself upright in easy stages. He looked exhausted, Harry thought, unsteady and pale and ill. The unfairness of it brought a deep burn of anger to his gut; a few potions and spells would heal the majority of Malfoy's injuries so easily in comparison to muggle medication. As soon as Malfoy was safely settled in bed, a flue call to Hermione would be a priority; with her position in the Wizengamot there was a slim possibility of a suspension of sentence, especially with Malfoy under his care.

Harry trailed after the other man as he made his way slowly up the stairs, wishing he could just use a levitation charm when he saw how much the long legs were visibly shaking. The magic of Grimmauld Place murmured around them, strong suggestions of sympathy and frustration in its tone.

"I know," Harry said under his breath, trailing a finger along the thick wallpaper. "Me too."

Malfoy came to a halt on the landing, waiting for directions. He stared down at Harry, his eyes dark in the gloom. "When you've finished," he said, an under-current of amusement lying beneath the exhaustion.

Harry slipped past him, opening the first door and motioning him inside.

"Bathroom is opposite," he said hurriedly. "If you need anything, just shout."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, the fullness of his lips drawn tight. Then he gave a small nod.

"Thanks Potter. This is very decent of you."

It sounded genuine enough, Harry thought, even if it was a surprise.  
.

Cont... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments :)  
> Being in close quarters brings all sorts of angst in the next chapter.


	6. Dark night

Harry was awakened by a feeling of intense distress. He sat up, gasping, his mind struggling to find the remnants of a nightmare that didn't seem to have occurred. Confused and disorientated, he'd already swung his feet down to the floor before he realised that the emotion was not his own.

"What?"

The word, spoken aloud without intention, seemed to open the floodgates as a surge of panic and fear flowed over him from...the house? No, not the house, he realised; the feelings were being transmitted by Grimmauld Place but had originated with Malfoy.

Harry padded swiftly to the door and into the hallway. He paused for a moment by Malfoy's door, not wishing to intrude, but driven on by the almost palpable waves of anguish. The door opened silently, the light from the hallway illuminating the rumpled and empty bed.

"Malfoy?"

There was no answer but a small whisper of movement drew Harry's attention to the wall on the far side of the bed. He sent a wordless lumos at the lamp and saw that Malfoy was huddled at the foot of the wall, his knees drawn loosely up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them.

"Malfoy?" Harry repeated gently, making his way slowly across the room. "Are you alright?"

The other man rubbed his forehead with trembling fingers and shrugged. Harry caught a brief glimpse of grey eyes before he lowered his face to his knees. 

"I'm fine, Potter."

Malfoy's voice was strained and muffled and he made no attempt to move from a position that must have been excruciatingly uncomfortable for him.

"Okay," said Harry easily, stopping to straighten out the sheets and plump the pillows, careful to keep his movements slow and calm as though he was dealing with a flighty animal. When he was done he wandered across to the window, opened it a crack to allow the ingress of some cool night air and then pulled the curtains back together. Only a couple more steps took him to Malfoy's side, where he leaned his back against the wall and slid down until he was on his haunches next to the huddled figure.

"Can't sleep?"

"It doesn't appear I'm the only one."

"No," Harry agreed, declining to mention the reason for his nocturnal wanderings. Besides, he thought, it wasn't really an untruth; Merlin knows he'd spent enough nights plagued by nightmares, before, during and after the war.

They stayed there for some time in silence, until the burn in Harry's thigh muscles told him it was time to move. He scrubbed at the gritty feeling in his eyes with the palm of his hands and then pushed himself to his feet. 

"Look, its like, I dunno, two o'clock in the morning or something. I'm going to make some coffee. Do you want a mug?"

Malfoy lifted his face then, the shadows masking his expression. "Might as well. It's not as though it's going to keep me awake really is it?"

He moved to get up, the customary graceful movement arrested abruptly as he straightened. Despite the way his lips were pressed into a straight line, he couldn't stop the small noise that broke free. One hand clawed blindly for support as he swayed and Harry moved without thinking, catching him under the arms when he crumpled. Malfoy fell against his chest, his head heavy on Harry's cheek and the hiss of breath moist on the skin of his neck as he swore. 

"Fuck! Merlin..." 

Harry just held him, horribly conscious of the injured ribs and oddly aware of the firm, lithe body flush against his own.

"Fuck," said Malfoy again.

His fingers dug into Harry's biceps as he slowly pushed himself away until he was standing unsteadily, still close enough that Harry could feel his body heat through the thin material of the ancient joggers he wore for sleep. 

"You didn't take any painkillers?"

Malfoy shuddered, withdrawing his hands from Harry's arms and rubbing them down the sides of his trousers as though to clean them. 

"No. Remember Potions, Potter? That careful balance when preparing medicinal potions, the ingredients combined to enhance the magical core rather than destabilise it? The muggle drugs weren't suitable."

He studied Harry's expression for a moment, then added, "I read the labels. I'm familiar with the pharmaceutical ingredients; I've had to do a fair bit of research over the last few years."

"Oh, yeah, right. Of course."

Harry dragged a hand through his hair, feeling bone-weary and disappointed and completely disillusioned. What had the war been for? He was sure it was something to do with equality and not being ruled by tyranny. 

"I need to lie down," Malfoy muttered, turning slowly away. 

Harry watched him, hovering anxiously but keeping his distance, until the other man was settled back on the bed.

"Right," he said, "I'll get that coffee then." 

Get the coffee and plan what to say, what to do to alleviate the ridiculous situation and actually get Malfoy some aid. 

.

In the end, Harry went first to Gawain Robards. He gave the Head Auror a condensed version of events, elaborating on his suspicions of Malfoy's possible involvement in smuggling and the need to keep him under observation, both for purposes of the investigation and for Malfoy's own protection.

Robards agreed that Grimmauld Place in Harry's custody was as good a place as any, then sent him on his way with a request for regular updates and a reminder that he was in line for the Head Auror post one day and shouldn't let any past history with the ex-Death Eater colour his judgement.

Harry then went by floo from the Ministry of Magic directly to Hermione's office. He stepped out of the fireplace into morning sunlight heavy with the smell of herbal tea. It was no surprise to find her in work early, half-hidden behind a massive stack of parchment. She listened to him patiently and then pulled out several law books, flipping rapidly through the pages while Harry helped himself to home-made biscuits and admired the mysteries section of the impressive and well-organised bookcases.

Eventually she gave a huff of satisfaction. 

"Yes, that'll do."

She raised her head, a frown pulling at her forehead.

"I'll do what I can, Harry, but I can't promise anything. Feelings are still high about Death Eaters and the Ministry is obviously no exception." 

"Yeah, I know. He's just so... He really needs help, Hermione."

"The request coming from you, that'll make a difference. I suspect the Ministry will want some sort of arrangement to sweeten the deal though."

"Arrangement?" 

"Perhaps if I let it be known that Malfoy is assisting in your investigation on a voluntary basis?"

"Malfoy doesn't know about my investigation."

"Well, perhaps it's time you had a chat? Surely he'll see sense, if it means the terms of his probation are improved?"

Harry sighed. "Yeah. I'm just not looking forward to telling him he's on the suspect list."

She stood up and rounded the desk to give him a quick hug.

"I expect he's grown up a bit. Give him a chance."

He buried his face in the familiar fruit scent of her hair, which was pulled over one shoulder in a loose tie.

"This is Malfoy we're talking about, you know."

"Promise me, you won't go back to the way it was, at Hogwarts."

"I'll try, but like I said, it is Malfoy."

"I'll let you know how I get on. I've a meeting later this morning and I'll have a chat with Shacklebolt."

She stepped back, a little frown pinching the skin of her forehead.

"I don't think I'll say anything to Ron, not yet. You know how he is."

Harry grimaced. Ron's hatred of anything related to Death Eaters had reached epic proportions. 

"He'll have to know some time. I'm an auror, Hermione; this is part of my job."

"I know. Let me sort something out first and then I'll tell him, okay?" 

Harry nodded, torn between relief and guilt at giving Hermione a thankless task. She seemed to read his mind and laid a hand in his arm, gave it a little shake. 

"It'll be better if I tell him, you know that."

"I know." Harry took a pinch of floo powder. "And, erm, thanks." 

Her answering smile disappeared behind the swirl of green flame. Now he just had to think of a way to sell the idea to Malfoy.

Cont...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos - thanks so much for reading :)


	7. Ron

It was mid-morning by the time Potter returned to Grimmauld Place. He looked ill at ease and as soon as he'd dumped the carrier bags of shopping on the hall floor he started running his fingers through his hair in a distracted manner.

Draco watched him from his position halfway down the staircase. It seemed as though the hair tugging was neither solving the problem nor making the unruly hair any tidier and after a minute or so he broke the silence.

"Bad morning?"

Potter jumped, clearly unaware of Draco's presence until he spoke.

"Um, no." He sent a quick glance up the stairwell and then snatched up the bags. "We need to talk."

Already, thought Draco in a dispirited way. He'd hoped for a few days in the safety of Grimmauld Place, a little time to get his head around things before he had to start watching his back again. But perhaps it was better this way, before he'd had time to think too much and remember it was all his own fault for making such fucked up choices when he was younger.

"Now?" he asked in a dull tone.

Potter glanced back at him, a quick flicker of green eyes before he turned resolutely away and strode into the kitchen, casting a "Yeah," over his shoulder, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like, "Might as well get it over with."

Draco followed him, taking his time on the stairs and wishing rather pointlessly that he and Potter had been friends, or at least not enemies, so that Potter might actually want him to stay for longer rather than it being a case of a brief, charitable hand-out for a screwed up, stray Death Eater that no one wanted around.

He pushed his way through the kitchen door to find Potter slamming a kettle onto the grate. There were no house elves he realised, watching bemused as the most powerful wizard in England, possibly in the world, made two mugs of tea the muggle way and slid one across the table top in his direction.

"There's some things we need to talk about. You might as well sit down."

Draco eased himself onto one of the upright wooden chairs, thinking that the growing headache in his temples was probably there to stay. He concentrated on stirring a spoon of sugar into his tea until he couldn't put the question off any longer.

"You want me to go," he stated bluntly.

"What? No."

"Look Potter, it's alright. I'm very grateful for all you've done, giving me a place to rest and everything. But I can't just lie around forever and you have things to do, Auror business and all that, so I'll just call myself a cab..."

"No. No! That's not it."

Potter actually looked taken aback and twisted his mug around in his hands until some tea slopped over the edge and onto the table.

"You're not well enough to leave. That's not what I meant."

Draco blinked, frowning.

"Look, I'm waiting to hear back off Hermione, but I'm hoping we can sort out a deal with the Ministry, a suspension of some of your terms of probation, in return for your help."

"Go on."

A tiny flutter of hope stirred in Draco's belly and he squashed it brutally; there were only so many disappointments a man could take.

"We might be able to get you some magical medical help, without any repercussions."

Potter's hands curled into fists, a scowl twisting his dark eyebrows.

"The terms of your probation...that should never have been allowed."

His intensity was mesmerising, thought Draco, distracted despite his better intentions. Mesmerising and oddly attractive, but there was a thought better left unexplored.

"You mentioned a deal?"

The smooth ceramic of the mug was too hot beneath the pads of Draco's fingers, but he couldn't let go, sensing somehow that this was one of those moments, where you balanced on the edge of a knife with no idea what lay in the abyss on either side, sure only that life on the knife edge was unsustainable.

Potter met his gaze. "Potion smuggling."

"Er, right?"

"We...the Auror department that is, are investigating a potion smuggling ring. We thought you might know something."

"Sorry to disappoint, Potter, but I'm clean."

A note of bitterness crept into Draco's voice.

"Were you waiting for me, in the park? It wasn't just a coincidence?"

"I never said it was a coincidence," noted Potter defensively. "I was on a stake-out a few days earlier and you walked past, so yeah, I wondered if maybe... Then I went back yesterday and you were there, and you know the rest."

"You wondered if maybe..." said Draco faintly.

After all this time, all he had to do was take a walk in the park and the cell doors in Azkaban started creaking.

"So I'm under suspicion?"

"You're a person of interest, that's all. Look, Malfoy, if you are involved it'll go easier on you if you help us."

"Go easier." Draco snorted. "Right. A nice, easy ride right back to Azkaban. I'll give it a miss, thanks."

He took a gulp of tea, scalded his tongue, tried not to care that his hands were shaking as he set the mug down.

Potter's fists uncurled, his strong, square fingertips pressing against the woodgrain.

"I'm trying to help you," he said quietly. "I pulled your file; I know things haven't been easy for you. You say you're not involved in this potions thing, and I believe you."

He paused, looking a bit surprised at his own statement and then nodding.

"Yeah, I believe you. But that doesn't mean you can't help. You know potions and you know, or knew, the sort of people who might be involved."

He leaned forwards in his chair, eyes fixed on Draco's.

"They're dealing with dangerous stuff. There's been a couple of kids killed. If you could help stop that..."

Draco grimaced, wondering why Potter believed him.

"Look," he said, "I've been living in the muggle world. It's not as though I'm in an ex-Death Eater club or anything."

He chewed his lip, considering, weighing up the risks of getting involved in a deal that could be withdrawn at any moment if there was a swing of political power within the Ministry, against the possibility of being allowed to use magic again. There was no choice really, not for a wizard. He sighed.

"But yes, I know potions, and I might know a few people to talk to, but you'll have to get my restrictions lifted; I'm no use if I can't even go to Wizarding London."

"Hermione will do what she can."

It was clear from Potter's expression that he had complete faith in the female member of the Golden Trio, not that there was any historical evidence to suggest that faith was misplaced.

Potter stood, his chair scraping back over the kitchen tiles. He picked up the mugs, knuckles brushing briefly against Draco's and sending an unexpected jolt of magic and something else thrumming along his nerves. It was distracting enough that he didn't process the whoosh of the floo behind him and suddenly a large hand had hold of his arm and a loud, irritated voice was in his ear.

"What's this prat doing here? Why is Malfoy in your kitchen?"

The owner of the voice dragged him upright, fingers digging into his biceps. Draco froze, breath stuttering in his throat, the room suddenly too warm yet the air icy cold on his skin. The owner of the hand gave him a little shake, then pushed him forwards until he collided with the edge of the table.

"Harry!"

"Calm down, Ron."

"Calm down!"

Draco's arm was released, the grip moving to the back of his neck as he was forced to lean forwards awkwardly over the table. Warm thighs pressed against his buttocks and he gasped, dizzy, black spots dancing in the air between him and Potter.

"Let him go, Ron. He's helping in an investigation."

"Like fuck he is! I should break the little bastard's neck right now."

It's Weasley, thought Draco desperately. Just Weasley, who wanted to kill him, but that was better than... The room tilted, Potter's face blurring as it creased in consternation, his mouth moving but the words lost in the roaring in Draco's ears and the rising tide of pain from his ribs.

He wasn't sure what happened next, but suddenly he was on the opposite side of the room and Hermione was in the kitchen, her hair escaping from a tidy bun and her hands reaching up to an angry-looking Weasley's shoulders as she spoke rapidly and earnestly.

"...walk. C'mon Malfoy, just walk."

Potter's arm was around him and he was leading him away and then the door closed behind them and the hallway was dim and empty.

"Breathe. Steady, breathe."

Malfoy tried, but he was shaking, shaking and he thought he might be crying but he didn't want to think about why. Instead he turned his head, dropped his face into the soap and biscuit scent of Potter's shoulder and closed his eyes. They stood there for a long time, not moving apart from the heave and struggle of Draco's breath and the slow rub of Potter's thumb on his back.

It was odd, he thought as the panicked gallop of his heart slowed, how even the touch of Potter's thumb sent sparks through the aura of his magical core. But it had always been that way between them, some strange intensity affecting their every interaction so that each insult, every spell, each collision on the quidditch pitch was more powerful than it should have been.

The sparks gathered, became a warm coil in Draco's gut that made him lean in a little closer, the rapid thrum of Potter's pulse against the side of his face testimony that he was similarly affected. Then the kitchen door opened and Potter stepped quickly away as Hermione emerged.

"Ron has gone," she said. "Do you both want to come back in and I'll let you know what's going on."

Potter went without looking back and Draco nodded, stepping carefully past Hermione. He sank gratefully into a chair, rubbing his fingers over his throbbing forehead. His headache was much worse and the dim lamps in the kitchen seemed brighter than before, their yellow light surrounded by a feverish glow that quivered in time with his pulse.

Hermione settled in a chair opposite him, watching him intently.

"I take it Harry has explained? Good. Well I met with the Minister this morning and I'm cautiously optimistic. We should get a final decision by tomorrow."

She frowned at Draco.

"It's likely any medical assistance will have to come from Madam Pomfrey. It makes sense as she knows your medical history and if you're not at St Mungo's maybe we can keep the press out of it."

"That's fine." Draco swallowed. "Thank you."

She looked momentarily surprised, then nodded.

"You don't look well, Malfoy. I'll get Madam Pomfrey to see you as soon as she's allowed."

He wanted to say that he was fine, but the growing waves of heat and bouts of shivering were becoming impossible to hide. He slid a little lower in the chair, as much as his ribs would allow, and let his eyes slip closed.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay."

Cont...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for staying with the fic!  
> Kudos to those who leave kudos and encouraging messages :) really appreciate it.


	8. Magical confusion

"Harry?"

Hermione's voice penetrated his thoughts, tearing him away from his pensive contemplation of Malfoy's pale face. He looked up to meet her gaze, noting the puzzled line between her brows.

"Yeah, sorry, I was..."

Harry waved a hand in a vague gesture and Hermione made a little moue with her lips, no doubt recalling the ease with which he was distracted, even if she was unaware of the reason. In truth, Harry himself wasn't sure why he was so involved in Malfoy's well-being, although the thrum of magic that had gone through him when his arm was around the man was hard to dismiss.

"Do you agree? To the conditions? I have the fine details written down."

She pulled a scroll from the pocket of her robes and placed it on the table. It didn't look as though Malfoy was intending to answer, keeping his eyes closed and his head tilted back against the slats of the chairback.

"Yes," said Harry after a pause. "So long as there are no major changes to what we discussed."

"Nothing major," she assured him. "But it's better to have everything written down; there's less room for legal manoeuvres later, if someone decides to make things difficult."

More a case of when, thought Harry wryly. It reminded him of another issue.

"Is Ron okay?"

"He's angry, Harry. It will take him a while to accept that Malfoy is working alongside the Aurors, with you in particular. The damage done by the Malfoys is very personal to the Weasleys, but if it helps save innocent lives, I'm sure he'll come around. Just give him some space."

Harry nodded, dragging his thumb and forefinger through the stubble on his jaw in an unconscious gesture of weariness.

"He's my best friend, I'll give him all the time he needs. But this whole thing just makes sense; we've been trying to get these smugglers for ages and it's tying up too many valuable resources."

"I know."

Hermione laid a gentle hand on his arm.

"It's the right thing to do and the Minister saw the sense in it. Of course, it's a sound move politically if the potion supply is stopped, despite the involvement of a Death Eater. I'm sure he'll get it signed off by tomorrow."

"And what happens if we don't catch them? I can't see that doing the Minister's popularity much good. And the public will probably blame Malfoy."

She sighed and patted his arm in a bracing manner.

"We'll deal with that if it happens. The Minister is prepared to take the risk and we've gambled on worse odds, Harry."

She was, as always, right. Shortly afterwards she took her leave, hugging Harry and running a perusive eye over Malfoy's slumped figure.

"Just be careful. Leopards don't change their spots."

That was true enough, although Harry wondered if the spots had grown freely on the youthful Malfoy or were cultivated by his parents and upbringing. Only time would tell.

In the meantime the man appeared to be asleep, the golden curve of his lashes resting on unnaturally flushed cheekbones. Harry laid a tentative hand on his forehead, finding it hot and dry, his immediate concern mingling with surprise at the tingle of magic that prickled under the pads of his fingers. It reminded him of Hogwarts and the unexpectedly sharp sting of Malfoy's hexes. He pulled his hand away quickly and rubbed it down the side of his trousers with a frown. Nothing had ever been simple as far as Malfoy was concerned.  
.

Without any need to go into the Ministry, and with his house guest soundly asleep, Harry filled the next few hours writing up his case notes and engaging in a bout of domestic activity. He was putting the finishing touches on a casserole when Malfoy finally stirred, pulling himself upright with a grimace that he forcibly smoothed out when he realised Harry was in the room.

"Hungry?" Harry asked mildly, observing Malfoy in his peripheral vision while keeping purposefully turned partially away, guessing the other man was in considerably more pain than he was letting on.

"Not really."

The tone was so listless that Harry turned to face him despite his better intentions.

"You feel worse."

"That might not be possible, Potter."

Even the customary snark was missing and there was a vulnerability in the pale features that made something uncomfortable twist in Harry's gut.

"The kettle's just boiled." He said awkwardly. "Try a cup of tea first."

"Tea," murmured Malfoy quietly behind him, his voice heavy with loss. "Cures everything, so Mother used to say."

"You miss her," said Harry, without thinking, immediately cursing himself silently for bringing up such a sensitive subject.

"Yes," said Malfoy simply.

"I don't really remember much about my parents. But, you know, I miss them anyway."

Now why had he admitted that, to Malfoy of all people? To his surprise there was a response.

"I heard," Malfoy ventured carefully, "that your aunt's family weren't the nicest."

"No," said Harry a little abruptly. "But there's no guarantee relatives have your best interests at heart."

That was met with a snort.

"You're talking to someone who had Bellatrix as an aunt. And then of course there's my father...but the less said about him the better."

"So we have something in common after all, shit relatives. Good to know."

"Well, it's a start I suppose."

"If we're going to be working together, maybe we should set some ground rules."

Harry poured out mugs of tea.

"You lay off Ron and Hermione."

"So long as Weasley keeps his hands off me," responded Malfoy with some bitterness. "And you, don't assume everything I do is with a nefarious intention."

"I'll do my best," said Harry in an even tone. "You're not asking me to lay off your friends and family then?"

"Believe me, Potter, you couldn't possibly say anything worse than the papers already have."

That was true enough and the conversation turned to safer subjects such as the re-decoration of some of the rooms in Grimmauld Place, which Malfoy seemed to find surprisingly pleasant, the bare bones of the potions case and general chat about the wizarding world to bring Malfoy up to date.  
By the time they'd gone through all that, the casserole was ready and Harry quickly levitated bowls and cutlery to the table.

"These are Black family heirlooms," noted Malfoy, lifting up a brightly patterned bowl for closer inspection. "You're not actually planning to eat off them, are you?"

"Why not? They're dishes and it's not like you haven't got enough expensive junk in the Manor."

Steady grey eyes focused on him.

"They are poisonous, you know? Lead-based paint was very common in that era."

Harry scowled.

"You're serious? Typical. I thought I'd got rid of the worst of the dark magic in this place, but even the plates are poisonous. Depulso!"

The bowls flew back to their place on the dresser and parked themselves neatly on the shelf. Two cheap ceramic dishes hurtled towards the table and rattled to a halt.

"Wordless and wandless." Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Very impressive."

He poked at his serving and slowly ate a few spoonfuls in silence.

"I don't cook much, now..." Harry's voice petered off. 

"Actually, it's very good. I'm just not hungry right now."

Malfoy let his spoon clatter into his bowl and kneaded his forehead.

"I think I might go to bed."

Harry stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth and nodded vigorously.

"Yeah, of course."

He watched as Malfoy hauled himself up from the table, feeling the now familiar squirm of discomfort when he realised how exhausted the other man looked.

"Give me a shout if you need anything."  
.

He didn't expect the ex-Death Eater to ask for help, so it was a surprise a couple of hours later when he heard his name. He took the stairs two at a time and found Malfoy in the doorway of his bedroom, clinging onto the door frame as violent shudders shook him from head to toe.

"D...do you h...have a blanket?"

"Yeah." Harry took hold of his arm, intending to help him back to bed and was shocked at the heat pouring off the man.

"Merlin! You're burning up!"

Malfoy's teeth chattered, his fingers transferring their grip to Harry's forearm, where they danced like small flames against his skin as tremors wracked Malfoy's frame.

"I'm cold," he insisted, then added unnecessarily, "I don't feel very well."

"I know," said Harry in a soothing tone. "You need to lie down and I'll get a blanket."

"Don't lock me in," said Malfoy plaintively.

"What?" Harry stared at him. "I'm not going to lock you in!"

Malfoy tugged away from him, his eyes wide and silver in the light.

"Grey back is coming," he whispered in a broken voice, then leaned to the side and vomited violently onto the floorboards.

Harry caught him as he sagged, pulling him clear of the mess and receiving a rolling wave of confusion through the palms of his hands that hit his magical core with such strength it made him momentarily dizzy.

"Greyback?"

The shock helped Harry regain his balance; he fought down a wave of adrenaline and fear and steered Malfoy to the bed where a quick interrogation of the house shields confirmed there were no signs of a breach. It seemed Malfoy was hallucinating, not too surprising given his temperature.

One scourgify later, Harry stuck his head in the floo and practically begged Hermione to press the Minister for a decision as early as possible.

"Just try and keep his temperature down, Harry. I'll get Madam Pomfrey to you as soon as possible."

That left Harry alone with a fully grown man who was convinced he was back in Malfoy Manor and who was genuinely terrified of the Dark Lord and his commanders stalking the halls. And if containing the unexpected strength in those lean limbs wasn't enough, the transference of emotion every time Harry touched bare skin was overwhelming. It was going to be a long night.

Cont...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Really appreciate the kudos and comments x


	9. Delirium

It was stifling in the small space behind the end bookshelf and Draco shifted by a minuscule amount, longing for a drink of water. The temptation to creep out of his hiding place was growing stronger by the minute and he was flexing his thigh muscles, preparatory to moving, when he heard a scuffling sound in the corridor outside Malfoy Manor library. He froze immediately, heart beginning to race as fear tightened its grip around his chest.

"He's here somewhere. I can smell the little git. C'mon out to play boy...you know you want to!"

Greyback. Draco felt sick, sure the sound of his own heart would give him away. He tried to breath as lightly as possible, painfully aware that the smell of his perspiration would act like a magnet to the werewolf.

The library door opened on silent hinges and a bright bar of light fell across the unlit room, illuminating the gleam of polished floorboards until they crossed into the dark patch of shadow in which Draco hid.

For a few seconds there was silence, then the sound of sniffing and a flurry of movement. The light was cut off as a large figure loomed at the end of the bookcase. Fenrir Greyback. Draco crammed himself as far back into the recess as possible, shoes scrabbling on the boards, but it was no use. A clawed hand closed around his ankle and hauled him, kicking and struggling, into the light.

There was a harsh chuckle as Greyback let go of his ankle in favour of his hair, some of it torn out by the roots as Draco was forced face down upon the floor. Immediately the iron grip transferred to the back of his neck and he was held in place as Greyback tore open the back of his shirt and ran a rough tongue up his spine, snarling at the taste.

"Mine," said Greyback with a growl.

Draco cried out, frantic with fear, struggling furiously as claws fastened on his hip and lifted him onto his knees before digging cruelly into his testicles. With a tremendous twist Draco broke free, yelping as filthy claws scored tracks down his hip. He staggered to his feet and bolted out of the library, the tattered remains of his shirt flapping around him. Swinging left outside the door, he opened his stride and pelted down the corridor, the sound of the werewolf's pursuit closing on him from behind.

Without warning, his way was blocked by a flare of light he dimly recognised as that produced by a protego charm. He bounced off it and fell sideways into someone who let out a winded gasp.

Potter, wide-eyed and shocked. Potter, who shouldn't be in the Manor. Potter, who didn't seem to see Greyback closing in on them.

Draco pushed away from him, panicking.

"Run! Get out of my way, you fucking half-wit!"

"Malfoy! Shit! Stop! You're going to fall down the stairs!"

Potter took hold of Draco's arm in a bruising grip, spun him around and threw both arms around him, effectively pinning him to his chest and stopping his headlong flight.

The long, elegant corridor of Malfoy Manor faded away and Draco found himself staring over Potter's shoulder at the landing in Grimmauld Place, the top of the steep staircase a mere step away. He stood, shaking, his chin hard against Potter's collarbone and the thumping of the other man's heart knocking against his ribs.

"Merlin!"

Potter sounded hoarse and shaky and when Draco drew back his head to look at him, his green eyes were wide and horrified in an unusually pale face.

"What...Where did he go?"

"Greyback isn't here," said Potter faintly. "There's nobody here but us. You were hallucinating; you're running a really high fever, Malfoy."

"He's not..."

Draco's breath hitched and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, trying to get back some semblance of control. Potter didn't move, giving him time, not saying anything, just standing there, solid and safe.

Gradually Draco unfurled his fingers from their white-knuckled grip on Potter's soft hoodie. He moved back a fraction and glanced down, relieved to find that he was still wearing Potter's spare pyjama bottoms and old t-shirt.

He closed his eyes for a moment; it had been so real he found it difficult to ground himself in the present, especially now he thought he could hear the sinuous swish of Voldemort's robes coming up the stairs.

Fearful of what he would find, he opened his eyes warily to find Nagini towering over them. The shock made him flinch and Potter grasped his wrists reflexively, wincing and gasping as their skin came into contact. For a moment their eyes met and Malfoy registered that Potter seemed to be as terrified as himself. Then the other man's grip tightened, his expression morphing into a very Gryffindor mask of determination; Potter would face it, no matter what.

Just before Draco fell back into the darkness of delirium, he heard Potter's voice. It sounded despairing, but the words were lost in the sibilant tones of the Dark Lord.  
.

Malfoy's weight drove them back against the ancient wallpaper, causing a portly wizard in a portrait above them to mutter angrily and slam a door as he swept out of the frame.

Harry braced himself against the wall, struggling to understand what was going on. He'd caught Malfoy a split second before the man's headlong flight took him over the edge of the stairs. He was obviously feverish and hallucinating, or so Harry had thought until he'd taken hold of Malfoy's wrists and received a sensory download of terror that was all Voldemort and Nagini.

It was so intense that it took seconds for reality to reassert itself, for Harry to remember the Dark Lord and his snake were dead and it was over, or as over as it ever would be. Even then it was difficult to separate hallucination from fact when he was receiving a constant stream of emotion from the man in his arms. It didn't ease until he recalled that he'd first felt Malfoy's magic when their skin made direct contact. He shifted his grip experimentally from skin to fabric and felt his world snap back into focus.

With some difficulty, Harry reversed into the nearest habitable bedroom, soundly cursing whoever had laid down the no magic decree. He'd taken enough risk with the protego charm, but by casting it in such a way that it protected the staircase rather than Malfoy, it had effectively stopped Malfoy but couldn't be seen as being beneficial to him.

He manoeuvred the ex-Slytherin onto the bed, hoping the bedding wasn't too damp as the room hadn't been used since the days of the Order of the Phoenix. Malfoy moaned, rolling onto his side and curling into himself as much as his injured ribs allowed as he began to shiver.

"Malfoy?"

Harry touched his shoulder, taking care to keep his hand on t-shirt. Malfoy's eyes opened slowly, the skin beneath them bruised in the dim light.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his teeth chattering audibly as the shivers increased.

"It's okay." Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose. "It's not your fault." He considered accioing a blanket but decided it wasn't worth the risk. "I'll get you some blankets."

There was a quick nod in response; Malfoy's frame was beginning to shake so violently that Harry thought he would shatter a tooth.

From that point onwards, the night steadily descended into nightmare as Malfoy's fever ebbed and flowed, and without the benefit of magical or medical help the man deteriorated rapidly. Within an hour, the shaking was followed by a bout of wide-eyed, feverish activity when his temperature soared and he rarely knew where he was or that Harry was present. It was a pattern that was to repeat itself over and over again.

Although Malfoy's demeanour during periods of delirium left Harry in no doubt that his hallucinations were deeply unpleasant, this was reinforced a thousand-fold by the transference of emotion that occurred every time their skin came into contact. He wasn't always sure from Malfoy's ramblings exactly what was going on in his head, but every emotion was transmitted with vicious intensity, to the point where Harry's own body reacted physically to the stimuli.

Despite his own racing heart and flooding adrenaline, Harry tried to give comfort where he could, wrapping Malfoy's shuddering body in blankets, applying wet cloths when his skin burned hot and dry, talking about anything and everything to try and ground him in the present, but Harry's own self-control eroded dangerously in the face of exhaustion and the re-emergence of buried traumas of his own.

Sometime during the night he lost count of the number of times he had to restrain Malfoy physically, conscious always of the man's injuries and horribly aware that with each passing hour the ex-Death Eater was becoming steadily weaker.

Dawn found them both on a bare mattress on the floor. Harry couldn't even remember why it was there, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now he sprawled with his back against the wall so he could take advantage of the cool air from the open window above his pounding head. He'd been sitting there long enough to be uncomfortable, but he was too tired to move and didn't want to disturb Malfoy, who lay beside him, stretched untidily across the blue and white stripes of the mattress with the crown of his head, touching Harry's thigh. It had been a while since he'd raised more than a feeble mutter and Harry found himself running his fingers through the sweat-dampened strands of blond hair in a gesture of comfort, though whether for himself or Malfoy was not clear to him.

For some reason Harry found the thought of Malfoy dying inexplicably distressing and after a while he shuffled down the mattress a little way until he could take hold of the cold, elegant fingers. The flow of magical energy beneath his fingertips was fading rapidly as the other man slipped inexorably away. Harry gathered himself with an effort and concentrated on pushing a steady flow of his own magic through the strangely intimate joining of their hands.

It may have been his imagination, but it seemed the long fingers warmed slightly in his grasp. He maintained the flow and found himself staring absently at their joined hands, Malfoy's pale skin contrasting with his own slightly darker tone, both hands bearing similar broomstick calluses.

Harry noted neatly filed nails were ragged in places as though their owner had been clawing at something without care for anything as simple as a broken nail. It didn't seem right that they looked that way, Malfoy generally being fastidious in his appearance.

It was actually rather odd, thought Harry, to have the opportunity to really look at his schoolboy nemesis without a haze of sarcasm, anger and mistrust lying between them. He ran an idle thumb slowly over the fine, golden hairs on Malfoy's wrist and then curled his fingers around the lax hand again with a vague intention of giving the man something to hold onto.

The room was dim and quiet but for the sound of the birds' dawn chorus. Oddly comforted by the feel of Malfoy's hand in his own, Harry's head began to nod and it wasn't long before exhaustion pulled him down into fitful dreams.  
.

  
When Draco opened his eyes his first impression was that it was morning, at last. He took a slow breath of the cool, damp air, feeling the grate of his ribs and finding the taste of blood in his exhalation.

Some time later, he became aware that Potter was slouched beside him and had hold of his hand. The grip was warm and calloused and thrumming with power. It dulled the pain radiating throughout Draco's body even as it brought back shards of nightmares, all terrifying and all at some point featuring Potter, who had seemed determined to save Draco from whatever terror had hold of him. Time and again Potter's face had appeared in his delirium, always anxious and concerned as his hand reached out to Draco, as though it was the fiendfyre all over again.

Now that same hand was his only anchor and Draco hung on, racked occasionally by a cough that left blood in his mouth and a rattling in his windpipe.

It was over, he thought, a fitting finale to his worthless life. It had all been a fucking waste of time after all. He supposed that at the end at least he was with someone who knew his name and was trying to help him. He thought it was probably more than he deserved.

A few minutes later, cold and terribly sick, Draco slipped quietly away into unconsciousness.  
.

  
The Floo roared and deposited Hermione into the empty kitchen. It was too quiet, Grimmauld Place heavy with sorrow. Cursing herself for leaving Harry alone with a Malfoy, Hermione cast a quick seeking spell and hurtled up the stairs with Madam Pomfrey following close behind.

She threw open the bedroom door and came to an abrupt halt, taking in the scene before her.

"Oh, Harry!"

He stirred, blinking sleepily at her from behind his lopsided glasses. She couldn't help but notice how his hand hovered protectively over the man at his side until he identified the dark figure behind her as Madam Pomfrey.

Cont... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really appreciate your kudos and comments :-)


	10. Dawn

"Harry?"

Harry wrenched his attention from his pensive study of Malfoy's prone form to find that Hermione was on her knees beside him, concern clear on her face.

"Madam Pomfrey is here now. We need to let her treat Malfoy."

Harry stared at her in bewilderment. Of course Malfoy needed treatment, if it wasn't already too late.

"Harry."

She sounded very patient, speaking clearly and slowly.

"You need to let go of him, so we can levitate him to a suitable place for Madam Pomfrey to work."

"Um, right," said Harry.

He realised belatedly that he was still holding Malfoy's hand in his own and hurriedly untangled their fingers. He rolled off the mattress onto his knees. 

"Now, Mr Potter, if you could just move to the side, Miss Granger and I will do what we can."

Within seconds Madam Pomfrey had whisked Malfoy out of the room and onto a hastily configured operating table. By the time Harry had followed on rather stiff and shaky legs, the air over Malfoy was thick with diagnostic spells and Madam Pomfrey's face had turned a shade paler. 

"Miss Granger, I will require some assistance. If you would...?" 

"I'll help," offered Harry. 

"Thank you, Mr Potter, but that won't be necessary. You can hardly stand yourself. What you need is a hot drink and a lie down." 

She caught a glimpse of his expression and her face softened. 

"You've done remarkably well getting him this far. Please rest. I may need your assistance later."

Harry realised he'd been dismissed. Even so he found it impossible to leave the room and transfigured a small table into an armchair. A drink could wait. He lowered himself wearily onto the squashy cushions and watched intently as spells flickered and flowed from the healer's wand.

On the far side of the room, Hermione mixed and measured potions at Madam Pomfrey's request. Harry recognised those for shock, blood loss, bone repair and infection but there were numerous others. 

It seemed to take forever, but by the time the flow of spells had slowed to the more simple cleaning type, Malfoy's pale face had turned a colour more natural to him and Madam Pomfrey and Hermione looked as exhausted as Harry felt.

"I'll get that drink now," he said. 

"That would be wonderful, Harry." Hermione gave him a tremulous smile. "Perhaps some toast? I think we could all do with some energy."

Harry nodded and hurried to comply, returning to the room in record time to find Malfoy lying in a pristine bed, tucked around with pillows and blankets and with a pale pink flush on his cheekbones. 

" How is he?"

"As well as can be expected. His physical injuries should heal completely within the next week, but he must take it easy." Madam Pomfrey regarded him sternly. "I must insist on bed rest for at least two days." 

"Okay." Harry agreed. "I'll make sure he sticks to it."

"You realise he's been through an ordeal. It may take a while longer for him to recover in other ways."

Something of Harry's trepidation must have shown on his face because Madam Pomfrey laid a hand on his arm.

"You really did so remarkably well, you know. Another hour or so and he would have died."

Harry nodded mutely, confused as to why his throat was suddenly tight and his eyes burning. Madam Pomfrey's grip tightened.

"Is there something more I need to know, dear? You seem completely exhausted." 

Feeling for all the world like a schoolboy again, Harry swallowed hard and tried to pull himself together.

"No. Yeah...well maybe."

Hermione's attention snapped to him. 

"It's Malfoy's magic...I can feel it." 

"That's not unusual, not if someone has an intense connection." Hermione chipped in. "And you and Malfoy were always very aware of each other." 

"I know, but it's not like that."

Harry found himself gesturing in frustration and tucked his hands into his pockets.

"It was every time we came into contact, but only if it was, you know, skin to skin. I got a blast of whatever he was feeling." 

"And did Mr Malfoy feel the same thing?" 

"Erm, I don't know."

"Well, we can ask him when he wakes up. In the meantime, Mr Potter, I must insist you rest." Madam Pomfrey regarded him sternly. 

"Please, it's Harry."

"Oh Harry," interjected Hermione. "No wonder you're so exhausted. Come on, sit down. Have your tea and toast and then you can get some sleep."

She turned a distrustful eye on Malfoy.

"Whatever he's up to, it can wait a while."

"Hermione, I really don't think he's been well enough to be up to anything."

He saw the determination stealing across her face and put on his most earnest expression.

"I know, it's Malfoy. I'll be careful, I promise." 

"I'll look into it immediately," promised Madam Pomfrey. "I believe you have a copy of some of the more obscure medical texts, Miss Granger?" 

They left Harry to his toast, heads together and brows drawn as they picked away at the problem. Stomach full and head fuzzy with exhaustion, Harry left them to it and nodded off in his chair. 

.

Malfoy slept for 27 hours straight, every hour restoring his appearance until it was just Malfoy, sleeping quietly, in a nest of white bedding. 

Just Malfoy, thought Harry wryly; he'd never been just Malfoy. 

In the hours when he hadn't been sleeping himself on his transfigured bed or chair, he'd found himself watching Malfoy more than was strictly necessary, although he supposed that wasn't too unusual in the context of their shared history.

In truth, at first it was concern that kept his gaze locked onto the other man, but as the hours passed and the pained creases on Malfoy's face smoothed out it became more that Harry found his gaze drawn in that direction for no particular reason other than Malfoy was...interesting. 

It wasn't immediately clear to Harry why this was the case. He'd known Malfoy since they were eleven and Merlin knows he'd spent enough years keeping track of him. He'd never come across as particularly interesting before; spiteful, spoilt, irritating and scheming perhaps, but not interesting. 

He supposed Malfoy had grown up, not just physically, early indications suggested that he'd matured mentally as well. Perhaps they both had. 

Harry frowned, studying his subject with an objective eye. Malfoy was...softer than he'd thought, with his tousled silver-gold hair and long eyelashes; more athletic than he remembered, with lean muscle on his long frame; far more damaged than he'd shown; as intriguing but less annoying than the schoolboy he'd been. 

Harry's gaze lingered on the other man's face, taking in the stronger bones and light stubble of the adult Malfoy. It was, he supposed, an attractive face, something he'd failed to notice at Hogwarts, although a fair proportion of other students had carried a flame for the young pureblood. Perhaps it was the Slytherin's eyes that had made him so fascinating, the way they seemed to change colour with his mood and the light.

Harry stopped abruptly. Fascinating? Malfoy fascinating? Merlin, surely he didn't think Malfoy was attractive? Did he? 

That thought was disquieting, particularly when he ran his gaze over the other man again. He certainly wasn't ugly. But, you know, it was still Malfoy! 

"You're never going to grow out of that, are you, Potter?" 

Harry jumped at the amused drawl, realising belatedly that Malfoy was awake and staring at him with his not at all fascinating eyes. He felt his face heat up. 

"Grow out of what?" he enquired weakly.

"Staring at people. You know, in polite society it's considered rude to stare." 

Harry snorted. "Yeah, 'cos we're always polite to each other." 

Funnily enough, even the embarrassment was worth the way Malfoy's lips curled up. Harry resolved right there and then to make him smile more often. Bad choices in his past or not, spending a night in the man's nightmares had made him reconsider some of his own assumptions. 

"So, how do you feel?" 

"Alive."

Malfoy closed his eyes briefly; when he opened them again he kept his gaze aimed at the ceiling.

"Actually, incredibly grateful. I thought it was all over."

His fingers picked idly at tiny, loose threads on the the duvet.

"You were asleep," he added suddenly. "I woke up and you were there...and, and I knew it was over. You were the last thing I saw."

"That must've been a disappointment," said Harry, trying to make light of it.

"Oh, I don't know." Malfoy regarded him with a serious air. "I can think of worse things."

"Madam Pomfrey really came through, didn't she?"

"I wasn't sure she'd agree to treat me."

A vulnerability he would never have admitted to caught at Malfoy's voice. 

"She's a healer first and foremost, Malfoy. Anyway, she's coming by later. I'll owl her that you're awake." 

"Have the restrictions been lifted then? I'm allowed to use magic again?"

Despite the casual tone, Harry understood the importance of the question. 

"Yes. Hermione is a genius. You need to thank her."

"Don't worry, Potter, I was well tutored in social niceties." 

"Seriously? They actually have lessons for that stuff?" 

"That stuff, as you so eloquently put it, keeps the wheels of power turning. Never underestimate it."

Malfoy pushed aside the tangled covers and sat up in a series of careful yet graceful movements. He flexed his toes against the rug on the floorboards and ran a hand through his hair.

"You're meant to stay in bed." Harry noted. "Don't let Madam Pomfrey catch you out of it."

"I think I might shower; cleaning spells aren't quite the same." 

Harry shrugged, acquiesced; it was true enough

. 

Draco waited until Potter left the bedroom before he attempted to stand. If he was going to fall flat on his face, he'd rather do it in private and not under the gaze of those ridiculously green eyes. 

To his relief, although he was sore and a little light-headed, he actually felt okay; it was hard to believe the nightmares of delirium were less than 48 hours behind him. Harry was right though; he owed his thanks to Granger and Madam Pomfrey. In fact he guessed he owed them somewhat more than just thanks. It was not a situation he was overly comfortable with, Malfoys preferred to have favours owed to them rather than vice versa, but there wasn't much he could do about it other than adhere to the social niceties and hope a situation would arise in the future to balance the scales.

He showered, leaning on the tiled wall for support, losing himself in the feel of the warm water sliding smoothly over his skin. He was beginning to drift off when Potter banged on the bathroom door. 

"Malfoy, you alright in there?"

Draco jumped, shocked back into the present, and made some sort of garbled comment that Potter obviously translated as 'no', because a split second later the bathroom door flew open and the saviour of the wizarding world rushed in. He came to an abrupt halt as his glasses steamed up in the moist air and muttered a quick spell to clear them.

"Oh, er, sorry Malfoy. I thought you..."

Draco leaned against the shower door in as nonchalant a manner as he could manage. After all, he had nothing to be embarrassed about, it was only Potter and it wasn't as though they hadn't seen each other naked before in the communal Quidditch showers. Behind him the shower head sputtered into silence, dribbling a last few ice-cold drips down his back. He shivered involuntarily, feeling his nipples tighten. Not the casual effect he'd been after. 

Potter's startled gaze narrowed and he flipped a towel from the rack in Draco's direction. Draco snagged it out of the air and wrapped it around his hips, wondering why he'd never noticed before how often Potter blushed and why it was so amusing.

"No harm done," he said casually, stepping out of the shower and purposefully waiting until Potter, obviously flustered, backed out of the room, muttering something about things to do.

Draco dried himself slowly, every swipe of the towel a symbolic polish to his fragile veneer of being "absolutely fine, thank you".

It was when he was brushing his teeth that he caught sight of himself in the mirror, and was suddenly reminded of another mirror in a Hogwarts bathroom and a sectumsempra spell. He wiped his mouth with the towel, feeling suddenly nauseated. He'd been so scared of everything back then, but not half as scared as he should have been. 

Cont...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've been so nice, I was inspired to write another chapter quickly!


	11. Flare

Everything had changed and yet nothing had changed. Harry was still Harry and Malfoy was still Malfoy, with all their associated history, but the ground rules had shifted in subtle ways.

When Malfoy appeared in the kitchen, looking sleek and groomed even in Harry's tatty joggers and faded t-shirt, it was fortunate his gaze went first to the pan boiling on the range, because Harry physically flinched at the pain behind the other man's sophisticated mask. That's all it was, he realised, an elaborately crafted camouflage that he'd previously been unable to penetrate and of which he had not even been aware.

"Madam Pomfrey will be here any minute," he noted, in a rather winded tone, suddenly suffocated by an unexpected wave of remorse.

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "I'm aware."

"At least sit down," protested Harry.

"Are you scared of her, Potter?"

Malfoy sounded amused, pulling out a carver chair as he spoke.

"Probably," admitted Harry, without caring one way or the other how Malfoy felt about that.

Any possible discussion about the Boy Who Lived being wary of a school healer was avoided when the Madam in question appeared in the floo. She dusted off her robes and fixed Malfoy with a stern glance.

"I said bed rest, Mr Malfoy."

Harry had no compunction about turning away and leaving Malfoy to deal with that one on his own. He withdrew out of earshot and left them to it, observing, more out of habit than anything else, the physical pattern of their interactions.

First Malfoy was reprimanded briefly, which made an unrepentant expression that was pure Lucius appear on his face.

Then there were questions, lots of them, and Madam Pomfrey's attitude visibly softened right up to the point when she actually laid a hand on Malfoy's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. He closed his eyes then, mouth drawn tight as he shook his head. She spoke for a while longer then ran a hand over his hair in a maternal manner before stepping away.

"Mr Potter?"

"Here."

"Can you come through. I have a few questions for you and Mr Malfoy."

Harry ambled in, keeping it casual. Madam Pomfrey got straight to the point.

"While you were unconscious, Mr Malfoy, I was informed by Mr Potter that he was experiencing a magical connection to your emotional state, but only if your skin came into direct contact. It was apparently quite intense."

Malfoy's eyes turned in Harry's direction, something about him suggesting a rabbit caught in the headlights.

"Not your thoughts," Harry qualified quickly. "Just emotions."

"Now," she continued. "I was wondering if the same was true in reverse?"

Malfoy swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"I wasn't thinking clearly, but yes, to a certain degree."

"Interesting." Madam Pomfrey smiled. "As it happens, a colleague of mine is a specialist in the field of magical cores. She suggests that the situation may have been caused by the build up of energy in Mr Malfoy's core, as he was unable to use his magic for some time."

"It could've happened with anyone then?"

For some reason that thought irritated Harry.

"Perhaps. Although neither Miss Granger nor myself experienced such a connection, so it may simply be that you were the first magical person to touch Mr Malfoy. Of course, a previous history of trading curses and jinxes may have made the connection more sensitive."

She said the latter in a dry tone without making eye contact with either of them and Malfoy snorted softly, a rueful twist to his lips.

"My colleague suggested that the most likely cure is for Mr Malfoy to start using his magic as soon as he feels able to do so."

She narrowed her eyes at Malfoy.

"Just make sure that you do feel well enough. Rest is essential at this stage of healing. Well then, if neither of you have any questions? No? I'll be off then."

"Madam Pomfrey?"

Malfoy was on his feet, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

"I...thank you. I wasn't expecting..."

"No need. Please repay me by taking all the time and help you need for a full recovery. And remember, my door is always open."

She offered a brief smile to Harry and was gone.

It seemed like a perfectly logical explanation and Harry sighed with relief.

"First thing tomorrow," he said. "You can start with some simple wand work. "

Malfoy sank back into his chair and grimaced.

"Really, Potter! I don't even have a wand."

"I still have yours," said Harry carefully.

"But it isn't mine now, is it? So it won't work."

Malfoy seemed to deflate, exuding a weariness that Harry could feel without any physical connection at all. Without thinking he stepped over and held out his hand.

"C'mon."

It was a gesture that had occurred over and over again as they'd fought their way through Malfoy's delirium, so familiar that Malfoy took his hand without hesitation and allowed Harry to pull him upright. As their skin connected for the first time since Hermione had asked Harry to let go of Malfoy's hand, there was a jolt of vivid sensation, coupled with a tremendous and audible crackle of energy. They both knew immediately that Malfoy was _bewildered, tired, scared,_ and Harry was _anxious, unsure, confused._

Harry heard Malfoy's shocked gasp even as his own mouth dropped open. The energy between them soared, rushing like icy flames over their skin and Ogden's Finest in their veins. For a moment they were frozen in position, Harry finding himself captivated by the pewter shine of Malfoy's eyes in the sunlight, eyes that were staring fixedly at Harry's bottom lip where it was caught between his teeth.

Malfoy broke away then, shock plain on his face.

"Wand," he said hoarsely. "First thing tomorrow."

Harry stood there for a long time when Malfoy left the kitchen, his hand missing the cool strength of the other man's fingers and his mind wondering what the hell was going on.  
.

  
To say Draco retreated in haste would be an understatement. For someone who'd spent his life behind a false front since his formulative years, to be suddenly so exposed was a deeply unnerving experience.

He returned to the bedroom, knowing he was running away but unable to stop himself. After pacing around for a while, he sat on the bed, elbows on knees and one hand over his face. It had to be Potter, he thought bitterly, the last person he wanted to know how weak he was; it was the ultimate humiliation.

It was quite some time before it occurred to him that Potter had been similarly affected. It wasn't long after this revelation that the man stuck his shaggy head around the door.

"Malfoy?"

Fearing on some subliminal level that Potter was the sort who would like to talk about things, Draco was tempted to close his eyes and pretend to be asleep. After all, Potter probably hadn't had much choice when it came to caring and sharing, being friends with Granger and the gregarious Weasleys. Draco however, was a Malfoy and did not wish to care and share in any manner.

Woefully deciding that a feeble pretense at sleep would be ill-mannered, bearing in mind Potter's efforts over the previous few days, Draco sighed.

"What?"

That was more than enough invitation for a Gryffindor and the door opened wide.

"I didn't know that was going to happen."

"Obviously." He really did look guilty and Draco relented a little. "It was a shock to us both, Potter."

That established, the man seemed to relax and wandered into the bedroom, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"I've got your wand, so whenever you feel up to it..."

"No time like the present." Draco rose to his feet, brushing off the feeling of light-headedness that made the room tilt for a moment.

"But Madam Pomfrey...?"

"Is not here."

Potter didn't look too sure about the situation, chewing at his bottom lip again, which for some reason made Draco feel slightly breathless and overly warm.

"Right then, the parlour is pretty empty and there's not much you can break in there."

"Thank you so much for that vote of confidence."

Draco whisked past him, keeping his head high and hoping Potter couldn't hear the way his heart was pounding with nerves.  
.

Malfoy was worried, that much was obvious. He was covering it up well, but Harry had been watching him for too many years not to recognise the way his mouth went all pinched on one side. He took the velvet bag from Harry with trembling fingers and slowly tipped the wand out into his hand.

He observed it for a while, rolling the smooth wood between the pads of his fingers, a little frown on his face as he gave it an experimental flick.

"It feels different."

"It's been a while," said Harry. "I s'pose you'll just have to give it a go."

Malfoy pointed the wand at a small glass vase on the table. " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

Nothing happened. He frowned, enunciated more clearly.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ _!_ "

The vase didn't move but Malfoy hissed, sticking the wand under one arm and rubbing his hand down his leg and then examining his fingers.

"It feels like it's getting stuck," he muttered.

"Try something else," advised Harry.

Malfoy shot him a look that suggested he was seriously considering a stinging hex or something of that nature and Harry shifted his position slightly, hand ready to throw out a _protego_ as he waited for Malfoy's next move.

It wasn't too long coming; the other wizard flexed his fingers, took up a textbook-perfect stance and threw out a barrage of spells. As far as Harry could see, none of them had any effect. By the end, the wand was smoking and Malfoy's face was flushed with exertion. He turned to Harry, his eyes wild and desperate.

"I can't do it!"

"Maybe you're trying too hard? Something must be happening."

Harry gestured at the wand and only then did Malfoy seem to realise it was smoking. He let it fall with a curse.

"Did you use magic, before the ban?" Harry enquired.

"You mean after you took my wand? Yes, of course; I used mother's wand."

"And...?"

"It was alright, I suppose. Not accurate enough for fine detail, but it worked for every day things."

"And after that?"

Malfoy's face went very still.

"After that, I was in Azkaban."

"Oh," said Harry.

The inadequate little word seemed to hover in the large room, floating with the grey dust motes stirred up by the energetic spell work. Azkaban. No doubt the source of at least some of Malfoy's nightmares.

Malfoy bent over and picked up his wand, balanced it across the palm of his hand and rubbed it absently with his thumb.

"You try," he said quietly, holding it out to Harry. "We'll know then, won't we? Whether it's the wand or me."

Harry took it reluctantly. The wood was still warm with a heat greater than that of Malfoy's hand. He flicked his wrist.

" _Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The little vase rose gently into the air and hovered there until Harry released it and allowed it to sink back to the table.

"Right," said Malfoy, in a dull tone that caused something in Harry's chest to clench a little.

"You could try mine," he offered.

Malfoy levelled a look of betrayal at his offending wand.

"If I can't get my own to work, I don't suppose yours will oblige."

Harry laid the wand down on the table and took his own out of his pocket.

"Worth a try?"

The muscle along Malfoy's jaw clenched and for a moment Harry thought he would refuse, then he held out his hand and let Harry drop the wand across it.

" _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

The case gave a minute twitch.

" _Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Nothing.

" _Reducto! Wingardium Leviosa! Engorgio!_ Fuck! It's no use, Potter." Humiliation painted Malfoy's cheeks red. "My magic isn't there anymore, you can see that!"

"No!" Harry insisted. "I can feel it!"

He stretched out a hand, stopping just short of Malfoy's wrist; the physical sensation of the glowing current beneath the man's skin was exhilarating and left him breathless.

"Try again," he urged, his voice gruff in his own ears.

Malfoy glared at him.

"Gryffindors really are stubborn, aren't they? I'm not going to stand here making a fool of myself. Looks as though the Ministry won after all."

"You're letting them win," snapped Harry.

"Really? What would you have me do precisely? Wave my bloody hand at it?" Malfoy slashed his hand through the air with a vicious motion.

" _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

The vase shot into the air and exploded as it hit the ceiling; glass shards tinkled down onto the table top in a translucent rain.

"Shit!"

Wide-eyed, Harry cast a wandless " _Reparo_ " and turned eagerly to Malfoy.

"Do it again! Try the chair."

Malfoy was paler than normal, but flicked his hand at the armchair without saying anything. It rose into the air, stopping abruptly just short of the ceiling in response to another gesture.

Harry laughed out loud. "Yes!"

Before his eyes the chair was transfigured into a potted plant, a plate of spaghetti and then an angry cat that spat and clawed at them. Malfoy cast spell after spell, multi-coloured energy crackling around his tall figure as he scribed elegant movements with his hands. Harry thought it just might be the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

Suddenly the armchair faltered. In the momentary lull the sound of Malfoy's breath was sharp and stressed. He seemed to sway, turning in Harry's direction with a face that was drawn, exhausted. Behind him the chair flickered and became a dark cloud shot through with lightning; it began to turn in on itself, twisting and spinning until a mini-tornado tore across the room.

"Potter!"

Malfoy gestured at it frantically, but each motion seemed to increase the speed further. The funnel howled, sucking greedily at furniture and snatching up smaller items as it advanced towards them.

"I can't..."

Malfoy yelled over the shriek of the wind, his hair blowing around his white face as he stumbled backwards into the wall.

Harry jumped in front of him and threw a powerful calming spell at the violent column of wind and debris. The power of the magic battled with his own and the funnel screamed like a banshee as it reached out towards them.

Harry gritted his teeth, thinking The Daily Prophet would have a field day if he was finished by a magical tornado created by Draco Malfoy; he didn't think Malfoy would have much chance of surviving the incident, regardless of whether or not he survived the tornado. He gathered his reserves with determination and threw everything he had at the funnel. It staggered in mid-air, slowed, and finally began to sink, until it reformed as a harmless, burnt-orange chair.

Harry turned around then, a crazy smile pulling at his mouth, to find himself chest to chest with a dishevelled Malfoy. Whatever he'd been planning to say abandoned him, the words lost in the warm touch of Malfoy's breath, the unguarded look in his eyes.

Harry's smile faded, every part of his body suddenly completely aware of the man in front of him. Malfoy stared back, the pupils in his eyes flaring, his lips parting as Harry leaned in and kissed him without even realising he intended to...lips cool and pliant beneath his own, then warm tongue and mint as Malfoy opened up to him.

Harry's magical core flared bright, the sentiment echoed approvingly by Grimmauld Place. Malfoy must've felt it too, because he moaned and tangled his tongue with Harry's, his hips pushing forwards so they were both left in no doubt that the other man was hard. For a few seconds it was perfect, long enough for Harry to know he wanted to keep kissing Malfoy for ever. Then other emotions began to filter through the lust swamping their sensory connection, chillingly from Malfoy, it was fear.

Malfoy, who had nightmares about attempted rape, who had recently suffered some trauma that he'd not disclosed. The connection was flooded by Harry's shame and guilt as he pulled back.

"Sorry, I...sorry...I didn't mean..."

Malfoy's eyes opened. For a split second he looked confused, then his expression fell into a familiar sneer, not quite fast enough to cover the flicker of naked hurt.

"Quite alright, Potter. I am irresistible after all."

He side-stepped quickly and thrust his hands into his pockets as he surveyed the wreckage strewn across the room.

"I think I might practice by myself for a while. It seems I need to work on control."

"What? Yes, whatever you want."

Harry struggled to catch up; his body just wanted to carry on kissing Malfoy, but it seemed that was off the cards.

"I'll clear this up."

Malfoy dropped him a sharp nod. "Thank you."

He turned on his heel and strode out of the room.  
.

Cont...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading xx


	12. Ministry

Draco let himself out into the back garden at Grimmauld Place. A combination of high walls and magical shields kept out most of the noise and pollution of London, creating a tranquil oasis that basked in the warmth of the afternoon sunlight.

He stood on the bluestone blocks of the spiral path, a sea of wild flowers around him, and concentrated on breathing past the lump of panic that constricted his throat. "In, out, in out." As if things hadn't been bad enough already; now he had uncontrollable wandless magic and he'd positively thrown himself at Potter, who had inexplicably kissed him and then undeniably come to his senses and retreated in horror when he'd realised he was not only snogging a Death Eater, but the despised Draco Malfoy no less.

"Ugh."

Draco wanted to shrivel up and die. How fucking humiliating. If only, just once, he'd been able to exercise sound judgement and not make his life even more unbearable. 

His first instinct was to just leave: leave Potter; leave Grimmauld Place; leave England. But there would be no point. He'd had his part of the bargain and the Ministry would expect payment in full, or quite possibly quote breach of contract and throw him back into Azkaban. He was trapped, just as caged by situation as he'd been under Voldemort's deranged rule.

"What an absolute, bloody nightmare." 

A lumpy looking female gnome lifted a foxglove leaf and peered out at him.

"You met the hairy one. He dangerous!" 

"You don't say," muttered Draco. Out of the mouth of gnomes.

The garden and the brick wall beyond seemed to be sliding to the left, in the same vaguely nauseating fashion things had been for most of the day, apart from the few seconds when Potter's lips had been on his and the whole universe had centered on right here, right now. Draco had to conclude that Madam Pomfrey had been right; he should have stayed in bed. The whole tornado thing could probably be blamed on exhaustion. Potter? Not so much.

The tilting and sliding sensation was all getting a bit much, so Draco eased himself down until he was seated on the sun-warmed bluestone with his back against the house wall. He pulled off his socks and stretched out his legs, bending one knee up for comfort. 

"Is pasty. Be getting more sun," the gnome noted. 

Draco shut his eyes. "Do fuck off, will you?" 

"Rude. Be throwing poor gnomes around next like scarhead." The gnome hurled a clod of earth at him, took the hand of a sprout coloured gnome child and stamped off. 

"Merlin," said Draco faintly. Scarhead. Trust Potter to have a gobby gnome in his garden.

.

"I'm so sorry, Harry." 

Hermione wasn't quite wringing her hands but it wasn't far off. 

"Tomorrow?" Harry repeated, for the third time. "He's not up to it." 

"Of course not, but when did the Ministry ever see sense? I did try, but they were adamant. You both report for duty in the morning." 

Harry swore softly, feeling unreasonably upset.

"Where is he anyway...oh." Hermione came to a halt by the kitchen door. "He's outside," she said, her voice suddenly softer.

Harry glanced through the door, surprised to see Malfoy sitting on the path with his face turned up to the sun. His eyes were closed, there was an unexpected splodge of mud on his chest and his feet were bare, something about the long, shapely bones strangely erotic. Harry turned away quickly, attraction battling with shame. He vowed never to let his guard down around Malfoy again.

"Do you think he's asleep?" asked Hermione, looking uncharacteristically unsure. 

"What if he is?"

"I was going to take him a cold drink, but I don't want to wake him up; the sleep will do him good." 

"You were...what? You were taking Malfoy a cold drink? Malfoy of the endless mudblood comments?"

"You were worried enough about him yourself yesterday. I hope you haven't been fighting?"

"It's complicated; it's Malfoy," said Harry with a shrug, wishing it had been something as simple as a fight.

She turned an intense gaze on him. "He's not that bad, not really."

"Are you feeling okay," enquired Harry in disbelief. "You hate each other." 

"I don't hate him. Not since the Manor," Hermione noted quietly.

"Oh," muttered Harry. "Not since the Manor, where Malfoy tortured you."

He regretted the words immediately when Hermione blanched under her tan. 

"I'm sorry," he said with contrition. 

"It's true; he used the cruciatus curse on me. But he did it under duress, Harry, and his heart wasn't in it." 

"Well, that's alright then. Good for Malfoy." 

Hermione swallowed, unconsciously rubbing her arm.

"He paid a high price for holding back. You shouldn't judge him too harshly." 

Harry stared at her, remembering a haggard Malfoy sitting on the edge of the chair at his hearing, jaw clenched and hands clasped tight in a vain attempt to stop them trembling. At the time he'd thought it was nerves, but maybe it had been more than that? Or maybe he was just trying to find excuses for Malfoy.

"I didn't know," he said, feeling rather lame. 

"I don't talk about it. I couldn't remember all of it for a long time..." She shrugged and sent Harry a brave little smile. "It's in the past now."

He gave her an impulsive hug, thinking again she was the bravest woman he knew. She hugged him back fiercely, then pulled away, her next question in such a casual tone that Harry instinctively knew the answer was of the utmost importance. 

"Has Malfoy spoken to you at all, about his recent injuries?"

"No," he had to admit. "Why would he? It's not as if we're friends."

For some reason that admission made him feel hollow inside and his gaze was drawn back to the figure reclining on the path. He wondered if he would like being friends with Malfoy? He looked harmless enough, reclining there in an elegant sprawl in the sunlight, but in his experience Malfoy had never been harmless. For all that...without thinking Harry flipped a quick cushioning charm under the other man and wove a sun-block spell into the air above him. Malfoy might be a git, but he didn't need sunburn on top of everything else.

It wasn't until he'd levitated a freshly-made chicken salad sandwich and glass of iced water onto the path next to Malfoy and covered them with stasis charms that he realised Hermione was watching him with a curious expression on her face. 

"You're not friends," she said. "But you've always been in orbit around each other." 

"He always looked like he was up to something suspicious," Harry protested.

"Whatever the reason, I think you probably know more about each other than you think you do."

Harry gave a sharp laugh. "Just nothing good!" 

"Well..." Hermione gave him a wise look. "If you're going to work together, it will be much easier if you're not fighting all the time." 

"Yes mum." Harry put out a hand and tucked a curl behind her ear. "I'll do my Gryffindor best, okay?"

"Mmm. Well, I'd better get back. I'll let them know you'll be in tomorrow morning."

Harry grimaced. "I suppose so. Tell Ron 'Hi' from me."

With a quick smile she was gone and Harry was left alone with his thoughts and a sleeping Death Eater on his path.

.

Day One of his new and hopefully brief attachment to the Aurors had not started well for Draco. They arrived at the Ministry by floo at exactly five minutes to nine and by two minutes to nine the entire workforce, their relatives and their friends knew Draco Malfoy had been escorted into the Ministry by Harry Potter.

"Oh well done, Mr Potter," gushed the reception witch. "The likes of him should never have been let out of Azkaban." 

"Mr Malfoy is a free man," stated Potter, so loudly that Draco suspected a wandless sonorous charm. "I'm delighted he's agreed to contribute his expertise to assist the aurors." 

Under cover of the babble of comments from the fast-growing crowd, Draco leaned closer to the dark hair and murmured in his ear.

"Contribute his expertise? Why, Potter, I believe you're not as verbally challenged as I thought." 

Potter scowled at him.

"Lifts, Malfoy. Before this crowd gets ugly." 

The gut-churning ride ended in the aurors' department; Potter led the way through a heavy set of double doors and Draco found himself in the main office. A deathly hush fell over the room as Ron Weasley pushed a chair away from a green felt mission table and got slowly to his feet, his face nearly beet-coloured with rage.

"You all know Mr Malfoy," said Potter calmly. "He'll be working with me in an advisory capacity for a while."

"Fancy allowing the likes of him..." "Disgusting! " "... nothing is sacred... " "just like his father..."

Draco lifted his chin against the tide of resentment and made sure his best sneer was firmly in place as he followed Potter's confident stride between the desks of the scroll-keepers. Despite the icy exterior he presented, the palpable waves of hatred made him feel nauseated and his heart pounded painfully as he stalked disdainfully along. It was a good thing they'd taken advantage of an early start and apparated to his flat to transport his clothes and personal possessions to Grimmauld Place. At least his expensively tailored suit and highly polished shoes were an armour of professionalism and good breeding, which was more than could be said for Potter's outfit of tatty converse and auror's robe, thrown untidily over jeans and hoodie. Not that the other man needed armour, being the beloved hero of the wizarding world. Besides, thought Draco wryly, Potter's scruffy appearance was undeniably appealing and did nothing to detract from the aura of sheer power that surrounded the man.

Potter made a bee-line to the archway on the far side of the main office and followed a curving corridor until he reached a mahogany door that declared 'H Potter' and 'R Weasley' in curling brass letters.

"Oh marvellous," said Draco. "Of course you share an office with the Weasel."

Potter, clearly on edge, frowned at him. 

"We had an agreement, remember?" 

"Ah, yes. Weasley, sorry. Old habits..."

Draco waved a hand in a dismissive fashion, privately reminding himself that antagonising Potter wasn't the best idea, especially as the man was so disgusted by him.

The office was surprisingly empty, containing two dark wooden desks piled high with scrolls and boxes, a chair behind each desk and two uncomfortable looking hard chairs, presumably intended to discourage visitors from over-staying their welcome.

Potter sighed and levitated the boxes from one desk onto the floor, then flopped down on the chair behind it.

"Make yourself at home." 

Draco considered transfiguring a visitor's chair into something kinder to the posterior, but decided the risk of his magic getting out of control in the vicinity of aurors was too high. To use the Weasel's chair would probably fall into the category of antagonistic, so he sat carefully on the edge of the rickety visitor's chair.

"So," he said, gripping his hands firmly together to still their shaking. "What precisely do you want me to do?" 

Ron Weasley chose that moment to open the door. 

"You can just fuck right off, mate, far as I'm concerned."

"Ron."

Potter looked pained and rubbed at his forehead as though he had a headache coming on. Served him right, thought Draco bitterly; what did he expect, putting the two of them in the same room? 

"Do you want me to ask for another room' til we're done?"

Potter sounded resigned and actually started shuffling scrolls around as though he was planning to move there and then. 

"What? No, mate! We're partners and this is our office. It's that pointy git that needs to move, preferably into a cell. He's probably behind the whole thing anyway."

Draco wanted to stand up and storm out with a cutting reply, but he really had no choice but to stay. He bit the inside of his cheek bloody and kept his gaze fixed on Weasley until he flushed and turned away. It was a small victory of sorts, but on top of everything else it left him feeling drained and depressed. Not for the first time he wondered if the deal had been worth it. If he'd declined, by now he'd be dead and all the shit would be over.

The door slamming behind Weasley jerked him from his introspection and he turned his head to find Potter was staring at him, his eyes dark emerald in the light from the desk lamp. 

"Are you okay?"

The concern in Potter's tone seemed to flay him to the bone and stripped away his fragile defences so quickly he may as well not have bothered constructing them. Merlin, thought Draco, I can't do this any more; it's been years and it's never going to end. He didn't trust himself to speak; Potter was the last person he wanted to see him break and the Ministry was the last place he wanted it to happen. He gave a sharp nod and lowered his head, letting his hair fall forwards as his eyes stung.

Potter pushed back his chair with a scraping noise.

"Ron...will have to get over it." 

Draco studied the weave of cloth over his knees and swallowed hard, blinking furiously and thinking his father would have been so disappointed in his lack of self-control, not that he gave a fuck about that any more. To his surprise he realised that the warmth of Potter's jean-clad thigh was right next to him and then the man's hand descended onto his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. Draco's skin shuddered at the quiver of magic that he could feel even through the cloth and he fought against the instinct to lean into the touch.

"I'm sorry about this." 

That just made it all worse. Draco held his breath and fought to keep himself together, wondering what it would be like if the sympathy was because Potter actually gave a shit rather than because he was embarrassed that his best mate had less manners than a Death Eater. 

Eventually he managed to get out a hoarse sentence.

"Let's get on with it, shall we?"

Potter withdrew his hand immediately, looking unexpectedly upset and leaving Draco's shoulder inexplicably cold. 

"Scrolls," Potter said abruptly, running his fingers through his hair. "Let's do the records first and see if there's anyone you recognise."

They spent the next few hours wading through parchment, interrupted twice by the tea trolley and once by Weasley, who brought Potter a plate of sandwiches and a boxed treacle tart. Potter, being the decent human being he was, halved the food as soon as Weasley left and then watched with sad eyes as Draco picked at his share unenthusiastically.

By late afternoon they were eyesore and irritable and had gone through most of the scrolls, coming up with a frustratingly small list of names that Draco thought might have the right connections or skills to be potential suspects.

Eventually Potter pulled off his glasses and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I'm done for today," he said.

Draco agreed, thinking privately that there was only so much exposure he could stand to tangled black hair and the tingle of magic every time their fingers came into accidental contact. It was no good dwelling on things like that, not when an unplanned snog had caused Potter such distress. 

"Ugh, that was intense."

Potter stretched his arms over his head and yawned, his hoodie rising up to expose a stretch of tanned skin. Draco averted his gaze quickly and agreed.

"I might work out for a bit. I find it helps. D'you mind hanging around for a while?" 

No, of course Draco didn't mind, even if the thought of a flushed and gently perspiring Potter did funny things to his gut. He strode behind him to the auror gym, glad to see that the majority of workers had left the building for the day. Even so, the occasional venemous look or comment meant he was wound as tight as a spring by the time they arrived. Potter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and seemed to read his mood. 

"Join me?" he enquired, in what Draco's ears convinced him was a hopeful tone. "Maybe we could run or spar or something?"

Draco snorted. "You want to punch me? Wasn't Hogwarts enough for you?" 

Potter grinned at him. "Afraid, Malfoy?" 

"Not a chance, Potter."

Actually, despite feeling completely wrung out, the thought of punching someone was appealing and Harry Potter had always been top of his list for that honour. 

They changed quickly, Draco borrowing some of the spare kit kept for trainees.

"Gloves?" Potter gestured at some that were hanging on the wall. 

"Gloves are for muggles."

"Are you sure you're up to this? I mean, you're still meant to be taking it easy."

"To be quite honest, it's probably just what I need."

It was true enough, Draco's resentment had built up during the day to the point of explosion, piling on top of years of anger and hurt and fear until he felt the slightest thing would send him over the edge. If Potter wanted a good punch-up, he was happy to oblige. After all, there was no doubt that would be the result of any so-called sparring session; they were both far too competitive for any other outcome.

Potter folded his glasses carefully and put them on the wooden bench. As soon as he straightened up, Draco hit him in the mouth. 

"Shit!"

Potter staggered backwards with a look of surprise on his face. He fingered his lip, eyes glinting.

"No rules then?" 

Draco smirked at him.

"Since when did we play by the rules?"

Potter responded by laughing and launching himself across the gap between them to bury his fist in Draco's stomach. Draco doubled over, taking a handful of black hair in his fist on the way past. It was on, although at first he felt sure the other man was pulling his punches. 

"I won't break," he panted as he took Potter in a headlock. "Don't patronise me..."

Potter grunted and slammed him into the block wall, held him there for a second while he stared at him in an appraising manner, then nodded.

"You're on, Malfoy."

They traded punches for a while, seeker-fast reflexes and their customary efforts to outdo each other making it a fast moving match that no-one in their right minds could describe as sparring.

Left eye swelling, Draco staggered away from a kick that landed perilously close to his groin and hooked his foot around Potter's knee. Potter, nose bleeding, promptly bit him on the calf as he fell and dragged him down by gripping onto his t-shirt.

They thrashed around on the rubber-scented exercise mats for a while, neither really getting the upper hand until Draco's elbow sank into Potter's solar plexus, more by chance than judgement, and Potter dropped onto his back, winded and whooping for air. Draco collapsed on top of him, completely shattered, thinking that if it was anyone but Potter he would have thrown in the towel some time previously.

They lay and gasped, their breath loud in the empty gym. Eventually Draco raised his head from his forearm and flexed his cracked knuckles before wiping a hand gingerly over his face. Potter regarded him from a few inches away, slowly thumbing the bloody streak from beneath his nose.

"You know," he said slowly, "you're the only person who doesn't treat me like I'm going to break or like I'm some big celebrity."

Draco smiled, probably the first full, genuine smile since before 5th year. "No chance of that from me, Potter."

The body beneath him shifted slightly, as though Potter had caught a deep breath, making Draco suddenly aware of ribs and hipbones beneath his own torso. A hand came up and a finger ghosted over his swollen eye.

"D'you want me to...?" 

"You can fix it later."

It was time to move, Draco thought; his body was beginning to respond to the other man flush against him and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before Potter felt an erection pressed against his groin. Draco put his hands flat on the floor, one on either side of Potter's shoulders, preparatory to rising, but made the mistake of looking at the other man's face. 

Potter's pupils were huge and dark and his gaze was fixed on Draco's face as the tip of his tongue came out and dragged slowly across his bottom lip.

Draco froze, his dick swelling immediately and pressing against the warm body beneath him. Potter gasped, a puff of breath warm against Draco's face as his hips responded with a slow, upwards grind.

"Malfoy?" he asked, voice raspy and uncertain.

"Sorry." Draco muttered. "You...I'm sorry; I know you don't want...this, with someone like me, with me." 

Then Potter's hands were on his ribs, sliding slowly down to settle on his waist, pulling him closer.

"Like you?"

Confusion gave way slowly to understanding.

"No, it's not that! I felt, before, how scared you were."

Draco stared at him in disbelief.

"Not of you."

"Oh...so...you want...this?"

"Do you, Potter, with me?"

"I want to kiss you," said Potter with earnest Gryffindor frankness. 

"Then, Merlin, get on with it."

Draco lowered his head slowly, Potter's lips coming up to meet his own, unexpectedly gentle and hesitant. Magic flickered; the warm, slightly salty taste of Potter's mouth tingling on his tongue. They moved their mouths slowly, opening up to each other, tongues sliding together as the kiss became deeper and more intense.

Potter's hands moved lower, cupped Draco's arse cheeks and pulled him in so his cock ground against the hot swelling in Potter's joggers. There was a moment of pure, unadulterated fear and then the familiar scent of Potter's skin filled his nostrils and Draco writhed instinctively, moaning at the delicious friction in his groin as the other man's mouth moved harder against his own. He reached up and slid his fingers into soft black hair, tugging gently as his tongue delved deeper inside a throat that opened for him.

Then Potter gripped him hard, one hand coming up to his waist as he flipped them over, his thigh between Draco's as he thrust faster. Draco squashed the swell of panic; it was Potter and he was safe with Potter. He concentrated instead on the sensation of Potter dry-humping him; it was overwhelming and he pushed his hips up desperately, the kiss breaking as he threw his head back against the floor. Potter's teeth caught briefly at his throat and it was enough. Draco cried out, balls clenching as he spasmed and came in hard spurts with Potter following immediately, shuddering and grinding his release between Draco's legs.

They lay there a while, Potter's hand stroking his hair and Draco's fingers twisted into Potter's t-shirt as something inside him gradually unclenched. He found there were tears in his eyes and closed his eyelids, hoping Potter wouldn't notice, but the treacherous drops slipped down the sides of his face and ran cold into his ears and hair.

"Fuck," said Potter, horrified, his hands taking hold of either side of Draco's face and his thumbs tracking the tears.

"Not you," choked Draco. "Not you."

He untwisted his fingers from the warm material and wiped his eyes, trying for a shaky smile.

"Did I hurt you?" 

"No, no! That was, really good, really. I didn't think I'd be, able to again...not after..."

And then he couldn't speak at all and Potter didn't try to make him, just holding him tight and stroking his hair while Draco curled into him and grieved in silent, wrenching sobs for everything he'd lost.

Cont... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs to those who read, especially those who leave nice comments and kudos!


	13. Apparate

Harry wasn't sure how long it took for the heart-wrenching grief to ease, but gradually Malfoy's body stilled until he was a limp and exhausted weight in Harry's arms.

"Malfoy?" 

Harry moved one arm from where it was wrapped around the other man's waist and gently stroked the head tucked into his shoulder, pushing away soft strands of hair until he could see the side of Malfoy's face.

"Let's go home," he said quietly, wondering vaguely why Grimmauld Place seemed more like a home if Malfoy was going with him, even if it was on a strictly temporary basis. 

Malfoy nodded, two gentle pushes of his forehead against Harry's collarbone, then unfurled his fingers from Harry's t-shirt and rolled onto his back. He looked completely wiped out and listless and Harry stared at him in a considering way before summoning his glasses and their street clothes. Glasses on and clothing reduced to the size of a small sandwich, Harry got to his feet, stuffing the packet into his joggers' pocket. He leaned down and held out a hand. 

"C'mon." 

Malfoy blinked at him in bewilderment but put his cool hand in Harry's and allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet, although he didn't follow when Harry took a few steps towards the door, remaining in place and staring at the rumpled gym mats with a vacant expression on his face. The thought of making him run the gamut of vicious comments from late-night workers at their desks, in the lifts and in the atrium was unbearable. 

"Oh, fuck it!" 

Harry stepped back and took a firm grip around Malfoy's waist. He summoned his magic, the powerful energy enhanced by his frustration at the situation and his anger at his colleagues' behaviour. He formed a powerful spearhead and then, without spinning at all, disapparated them straight through the Ministry's wards, blasting a considerable hole in the defences and setting off every alarm in the building.

They arrived in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place with a tremendous crack. Malfoy staggered a few steps away as he was released, shock on his face. 

"Potter! What the fuck was that! You can't apparate out of the Ministry!" 

"Well, I just did," pointed out Harry calmly. 

"The place will be in uproar!"

Harry flinched and grimaced.

"Too late for that now." 

Malfoy ran a hand over his hair and scowled at him.

"A little warning next time, Potter. Don't you like travelling by Floo like a normal wizard? Is the Floo system beneath the saviour of the wizarding world?" 

"Actually, I hate it, but no, I use it all the time."

Malfoy's grey eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Then why the demonstration?"

It was obvious from his expression he wasn't going to let the matter go without further explanation. 

Harry sighed.

"I didn't want you to have to deal with any more of the hate, not today."

The other man went completely still, the kitchen so quiet Harry felt as though he'd gone deaf. He waited for the snide comment that never came. Instead Malfoy blinked and swallowed and lowered his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I've been thinking," he said eventually. "The list of names we drew up today...O'Keefe, Yoki and Romani all went to Durmstrang, all apprenticed under Swinnerly and all specialised in plant extracts."

It was the last thing Harry had been expecting. Was it an example of Malfoy's undoubted intelligence, that he could continue to process information under duress, or simply something that he'd concluded earlier but chosen to keep to himself until now?

"Okay?" He offered.

"On every occasion when someone was killed or injured, samples were taken of the potion where some remained. They all contained the same thing, Oil of Quintessence."

"And...?"

Malfoy looked mildly exasperated.

"Really Potter, did you listen to Snape at all? Oil of Quintessence is the extract of poisonous plants. Its extremely difficult to prepare and a tiny drop can be fatal."

"But why would a supplier of illegal potions poison their own customers? It doesn't make sense." 

"It does if the supply is being poisoned by a rival supplier. A bad reputation travels fast whether you're legal or illegal. Customers soon find another source."

It all made perfect sense, but why had a team of experienced Aurors missed it. Harry said as much.

"You don't have enough Slytherins in the Auror department; are there any Slytherins at all on the investigation?"

"Why would that matter?" 

"Any Slytherin would know that about fifteen years ago the potions departments in Durmstrang and Hogwarts went head to head in an international potions competition. Hogwarts won of course, but for some of the parties involved the intense rivalry never died."

There was an element of bitterness in the words as he continued.

"The Hogwarts team were all Slytherins; I expect that's why you've never heard of it." 

"O'Keefe, Yoki and Romani were all members of the Durmstrang team?" Harry guessed. 

"Exactly. And by far the most vociferous after the event too."

"And some of the other names on the list were in the Hogwarts' team?"

Malfoy dropped a hip against the shiny rail around the unlit range.

"Not just a hat rack then, Potter. Not that you'd get a hat to fit on that bed hair."

For some reason the mention of hats prompted a crystal clear memory of Malfoy in the snow, white flakes on a grey fur hat, cheeks pink with cold beneath eyes ice-blue as the winter sky. By the time Harry realised he'd been insulted, it was too late to respond. He raised his head to find the other man was watching him with a surprisingly gentle smirk on his face. He flushed; Malfoy always had been a distraction, one way or another.

It was an unpleasant thought that ex-students from Hogwarts might be guilty of illegal potion sales, although of course some had been involved in far worse.

"How many of the Hogwarts team are mixed-up in this?" 

"I can't be sure of course, not yet, but there are two on the list. Both are purebloods whose families were known supporters of the Dark Lord. And let's face it, Potter, legal employment hasn't exactly been an easy prospect for the likes of us, has it?" 

Harry nodded, accepting that it was a valid point, but hoping it didn't imply that Malfoy was similarly engaged in illegal activities.

"So you think the Durmstrang group are trying to take over?" 

The other man's thoughts on the matter remained unknown, as the Floo roared into life and spat out Ron and Hermione, wands drawn.

Ron was red-faced with rage and his wand hissed and sparked as he jabbed it into the side of Malfoy's neck.

"What did you do, you slimy git?"

"Harry, are you alright?!"

Harry took hold of Ron's arm in a strong grip and moved it forcefully aside.

"Malfoy didn't do anything." 

Ron turned to him, his face going even redder when he saw the crust of dried blood on Harry's nostril.

"I'll kill him!"

He turned his wand back on Malfoy.

"Don't move, you wanker! Just give me an excuse!" 

Hermione inserted herself bodily between them, her hair bushy with anxiety.

"RON! STOP! Harry clearly isn't being held against his will, so let's just ask him what happened!"

"He's what happened, filthy Death Eater!"

Ron spat the words into Malfoy's face, which didn't waver from its derisive sneer.

"Malfoy didn't do anything," repeated Harry in a cold voice. "Do you really think I can't protect myself against a Malfoy?" 

"But Harry, what in Merlin's name happened? You can't have apparated out of the Ministry."

"Well I did. I'm sorry, Hermione. I'll apologise to everyone in the morning. Get away from him, Ron." 

"Don't blame Ron."

Hermione looked on the verge of tears.

"There was a huge explosion and all the alarms went off. Then we found the hole in the wards. When they discovered the epicentre was the gym someone remembered you two going in there, but no one could get in because there was a powerful privacy spell on the door. Eventually the Aurors blew a hole through the wall, but you were gone and there was blood on the floor. What were we supposed to think!?"

"It was me," Harry said firmly. "I needed to blow off some steam after listening to that bigoted shit all day and I thought a good workout might help. We ended up doing some sparring, but you know, it's me and Malfoy, so things got a bit heated."

He gestured at his nose and lip.

"Then after, I just wanted to get us back here, so I apparated."

Hermione looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and relief.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, feeling rather lame. "I didn't think."

"If it wasn't for him..." Ron snarled.

"We wouldn't have just had a breakthrough on the potions case." Harry informed him. 

Hermione pursed her lips and turned to the Floo.

"I'll let them know at the Ministry. They're probably assembling a task force by now."

"Are you sure you're alright, mate?"

Ron sounded almost disappointed, but allowed Harry to draw him away to the other side of the kitchen.

"Look Ron, you've got to ease up on Malfoy. He doesn't want to be here and you don't want him here. But we need him, and he needed the deal; he was dying, mate."

"Best thing for him."

The words were without heat as Ron's anger faded away, replaced by a weariness that Harry hadn't seen since the Forest of Dean.

"It's tough," the taller man admitted, holstering his wand. "What with Fred, and with us being partners since we started in the Aurors."

"I know, but you're my best mate; you have been since we were eleven. We'll get this case sorted, Malfoy will go back to doing whatever it is that he does and we can all get back to normal."

"I know." Ron sighed, resigned. "Probably best if I keep my distance though. But if you need me, I'm here."

"I know."

Harry clapped him on the back, gave him a brief one-armed hug.

"Let's get back to Hermione; she looks really upset." 

It was only as Ron walked away that Harry caught sight of Malfoy. He was still by the range, his face white and set and his eyes expressionless. It would have fooled Harry completely if he hadn't recognised it for the mask it was. His recent words came back to him, each one dropping as heavy as lead into the gap between them. He hadn't meant...

"Malfoy..."

"If you don't mind, Potter, I'll leave you to deal with this Gryffindor debacle."

And Malfoy was gone, turning on his heel and letting the kitchen door swing to behind him. The space in front of the range where he had been was suddenly far too empty.

. 

The door clicked shut quietly behind Draco. He stalked along the corridor, almost silent on his bare feet. Potter's words seemed to surround him, as sharp-edged as broken shards of glass.

"Do you really think I can't protect myself against a Malfoy?" "...we need him, and he needed the deal..." "We'll get this case sorted, Malfoy will go back to doing whatever it is that he does and we can all get back to normal."

How had he allowed himself to forget that they was just using him? He was a pathetic excuse for a pureblood; the Malfoy's and the Blacks must all be spinning in their tombs. They needed his inside knowledge to solve their pathetic little case and then he would be pushed aside and forgotten so they could all get back "to normal".

Draco came to a halt halfway up the staircase, remembering belatedly that he needed to breathe. His knuckles gleamed white against the dark wood of the bannister as his mind raced. So what if Potter had saved him? Potter was a natural saviour. And so what if Potter fancied him, wanted to shag him? He no doubt saw the same pretty boy others had. He was admittedly more polite about it, because after all it was Potter, but it didn't mean Draco was anything but a quick shag, the scratching of an itch that had started years before. 

It made Draco feel sick to his stomach. How had he let himself be so needy, so vulnerable? He'd even broken down in front of Potter, who was so decent that he probably now felt sorry for Draco because he was so weak.

"Merlin!"

Draco took the remaining stairs at a run, dashed into his room and locked the door both magically and physically. He faced the wall, his hands flat against the lumpy wallpaper. How could he have been so stupid? He dropped his forehead against the surface, pressing hard as he ground his teeth.

"Fuck!"

On top of it all he was still attracted to Potter, attracted enough that the memory of their bodies grinding together made his dick harden. If Potter was in front of him right now...

"Ugh!" Draco drew back his head and slammed it into the wall a couple of times until the pain shocked him upright.

Truth was, he was overwhelmingly attracted to Potter. It was time to admit that to himself. What's more, he'd been attracted to Potter for a long time, although he couldn't pin down the exact moment when rejected friendship and the subsequent blur of competitive animosity, hatred and suspicion bordering on obsession had gradually given way to a long-denied realisation that there was something incredibly hot about Potter and his ever-present power.

Some awareness between them had started to change long before sectumsempra and fiendfyre, but it had faded into the background compared to the ever darkening maelstrom created by Voldemort, had become buried in the intervening years until the day Potter had more or less abducted him from Regent's Park.

What a fucking mess.

Draco paced across the room, almost frantic in his desire to regain some control over the situation. He had no choice but to continue with the Ministry deal. Potter, on the other hand...the attraction couldn't be denied, but whether or not to continue to act on it in this tiny span of time they had together was his choice.

He stopped abruptly, aware of the shake in his fingers as they passed through his hair. It occurred to him that this might be it for him anyway; he may never be able to trust anyone else enough to let them touch him in that way.

His decision was already made and was inevitable. Anything was better than nothing. And after...Draco was used to pain and Potter need never know that his arch-nemesis had done the unforgivable and let his feelings get involved.

Cont... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many hugs to you for reading and especially for the kudos and comments!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys' irrestible attraction increases, but will they ever understand each other?

When Draco awoke the next morning, his suit and shoes were floating outside the bedroom door. He plucked them from the air, the unmistakable thrill of Potter's magic caressing his fingers, noting the clothing looked free of creases and ready to wear. It was almost depressing, the thoughtfulness of the gesture above and beyond that necessary between ex-rivals. 

After a moment's consideration and a quick look out the window at the overcast sky, he decided to stick with his earlier choice of jeans, white long sleeved t-shirt and jacket. Muggle clothing had been his everyday wear for so long that sometimes wizard robes and cloaks, even with self-adjusting seams, felt oddly cumbersome. Besides, there was a distinct possibility that if the Head Auror thought their conclusions were worth investigating they would be sent out in the field and Potter had indicated that trading was taking place in muggle locations. Draco was under no illusions about his probable role; he would be Death Eater bait to draw out the ex-Slytherins.

He cast a cautious healing charm over the bruises on his face and neck, grateful that a largely sleepless night had given him ample time to practise wandless charms, then went down to the kitchen, his jacket slung over one shoulder and sleeves pushed up far enough that the Dark Mark on his arm was clearly visible. He was not going to pretend to be something he wasn't.

Potter was cooking bacon, his hair in even more disarray than normal and a sheepish expression on his face as he turned. Draco took his time hanging his jacket on the back of a chair and then raised his head to find a look of shock on Potter's face, grease dripping slowly from the spatula hanging loose in his hand.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Potter."

"Umm yes,"

Potter agreed, his gaze travelling up and down Draco's form in a startled way, without appearing to pause on the Dark Mark at all. He suddenly seemed to realise what he was doing and turned back to the sizzling pan as a red flush spread over his face. 

"You, er, are wearing muggle clothes." 

"It's not the first time you've seen me in them," Draco noted, a bit puzzled by the reaction and hoping he hadn't made some horrible faux-pas in his choices. "It makes sense if we get sent out today?" 

"Yeah, good thinking," Harry nodded. "If Robards goes for it...and I think he will."

He loaded some bacon onto a plate and brought it over to the table, summoning a loaf of bread as he passed.

"About yesterday..."

By Potter's expression of mingled guilt and embarrassment, it was obvious he was about to launch into a Gryffindor-style analysis of his comments to the Weasel, a subject better avoided in Draco's opinion. He butted in smoothly, cutting Potter off in mid-sentence.

"Well, it's only a theory at the moment. But I'm hopeful it will bring some results." 

Potter looked taken aback, but the heart-to-heart moment had been lost and he reluctantly moved on to discuss the case, all the while a little pinch of distress between his eyes. 

Draco ate, a study in calmness as he cut and chewed a bacon sandwich, forcing each mouthful down in the hope it would still the anxious clench of his stomach. He observed Potter surreptitiously from beneath his eyelashes, noting in a rather hopeless way that Potter's rumpled morning hair looked so incredibly soft that he could almost feel the texture of it beneath his fingertips.

That's enough, he told himself sternly. It was time to concentrate on business. Potter, for whatever convoluted reason, had helped him out initially and it was now his duty to complete his part of the deal. Even if the Ministry hadn't been involved, there was still a matter of magical debt to honour.   
.

Their arrival at the Ministry caused a flurry and more than a few frowns. Aurors and building maintenance staff were still hard at work restructuring wards. Harry ducked out of the busy atrium as quickly as possible, glad that at least on this occasion the negative attention was more on himself than Malfoy.

"They're cross with you, Potter." The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at Malfoy's lips as he turned to summon the lift.

Harry followed him through the ornate gates, trying to ignore the way Malfoy's jeans hugged his thighs as he leaned in a casual manner against the back wall of the lift. Getting Robards' approval was of the utmost importance; there was no time for fantasies about the feel of Malfoy's body writhing beneath his own.

"Earth to Potter? Potter? Potter!" 

Belatedly Harry became aware that the other man was regarding him with wry amusement. 

"Do you intend to take the lift, or is there some vital clue in here that I should be investigating?" 

"What? No!"

Harry slammed the gates closed rather more vigorously than intended and the lift shot backwards, causing him to stagger into Malfoy. A cool hand against the small of his back steadied him, but then made no attempt to move away.

They hurtled through the bewildering maze of shafts, Harry completely aware of the soft puff of breath against the back of his neck and the fresh tingle of magic from Malfoy's hand. The connection between their magical fields was less powerful since Malfoy's outburst of wandless magic, but was still clear enough that Harry could pick up a jumble of conflicting emotions. 

It reminded him that it was odd there'd been no mention of his comments the previous evening; Harry had been expecting at the very least a sharp jibe or two. All his own attempts to bring up the subject had been swiftly diverted, but perhaps it was just another indication that Malfoy was no longer the school boy he remembered.

In turn this reminded him that adult Malfoy was almost unbearably attractive and what with one thing and another Harry found his stomach clenched tighter than even the motion of the lift dictated. By the time they alighted, he was wound tighter than a spring and there was an uncomfortable pressure in his trousers.

He rushed out of the lift as soon as it stopped, bursting into the aurors' office to be met with a hushed silence that warned him Robards was not far away. Sure enough, seconds later, the man's voice boomed overhead. 

"Potter! In my office now. And bring Malfoy with you."

Harry winced and jerked his head slightly, indicating Malfoy should follow him into the Head Auror's office. Robards was seated behind his heavy oak desk, hands folded on the tooled leather top and a stern expression on his face. 

"Sir..." began Harry. 

An imperious hand gesture cut him off as Robards rose and walked ponderously around the desk, closing in on Malfoy until he was mere inches away. 

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," he said, his tone heavy with dislike. "I never thought the day would come when you were in my office."

He rocked back on his heels, huffing a disgusted breath.

"Let me make myself clear; I don't like your sort and I don't trust you; I'd just as soon throw you back into Azkaban..."

"Sir!"

Harry was waved to silence. 

"You are here for one reason and one reason only; Potter here has given his word that you can assist with the investigation. But make no mistake - one foot wrong... Do you understand me?" 

Malfoy's face was impassive.

"Perfectly," he said in a langourous drawl that seemed deliberately pitched to set Harry's teeth on edge and bring a tightness to Robards' jaw. 

Robards stared at Malfoy for a while, the room frozen in an uncomfortable silence, then spun on his heel to face Harry.

"Weasley has been to see me. He says you disapparated out of the gym. According to him you were solely responsible for destroying the wards last night. Is that true?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any reason for that, Auror Potter?" 

"Yes sir." 

"Now would be a good time for you to elaborate."

"Bigotry. Sir." 

Robards' nostrils flared.

"Explain." 

"There were a large number of insulting remarks made yesterday. It was a long day. I didn't feel like listening to any more. I didn't fight a war to put up with that sort of behaviour." 

Malfoy's face held a hint of approval, though it was probably more at the snarkiness in Harry's tone than his Gryffindor boldness and sense of fair play. 

"If you insist on working with the likes of a Malfoy you'll have to grow a thicker skin," said Robards mildly, with a dismissive glance in Malfoy's direction. "I don't expect any more damage to my wards because of the delicate feelings of a Death Eater." 

"Right. Sir." 

Harry was fuming at the easy dismissal of the situation, angry enough that a quill on Robards' desk began to tremble and quake behind his back. He wanted to shout and rant, but knew it would be counter-productive and would somehow make Malfoy's theory less acceptable. He fought instead for control, mildly shocked when Malfoy stepped forwards casually, his knuckles brushing against Harry's and transmitting a cool stream of reassurance. It allowed him to regain just enough balance to calm his roiling magic and Harry swallowed, taking a deep breath, the quill settling back against the desk. 

"Malfoy has a theory," he said quietly, pushing his knuckles more securely against the other man's hand. "I think you should hear him out."   
.

Thirty minutes later they were back in Harry's office. He shut the door securely and turned to Malfoy. 

"Thanks for...he wouldn't have gone for it if I'd lost my...you were...and I'm sorry, what I said last night, it wasn't..."

"Really, Potter, full sentences would help enormously."

Malfoy regarded him warily, a slight pout to his mouth that drew Harry's gaze despite his best intentions. Harry gulped, trying to articulate clearly. 

"When you explained, in there, faced him down when he wanted to...that was so..."

"So?" Malfoy's cheeks warmed.

"Hot, Malfoy."

Harry stepped closer, his voice deepening as he found the words.

"Really fucking hot."

His hand alighted on Malfoy's hip, tugging him gently forwards.

"I'd really like to kiss you now." 

"Please, don't let me stop you."

Malfoy swayed into him, their mouths meeting fiercely as his long fingers curled into Harry's hair. A firm butt cheek in each hand, Harry pushed his tongue deep, Malfoy opening to him, their hips pushing forwards in a slow grind that was exquisite and frustrating in equal measures until Harry broke away.

"Is this okay, do you...?" 

"Yes, Potter."

Malfoy's voice was shaking, his lips red and irresistible. Harry ran a thumb over them, his other hand rubbing against the heat in Malfoy's crotch. 

"I want to make you come."

Malfoy's eyes went wide at that, his body shuddering as Harry's hands parted his thighs.

Harry pushed him slowly against the desk, watching all the time for signs of discomfort, then popped open the jeans' button, slid down the zipper and wriggled his fingers inside the tight space.

Malfoy's cock was hot and hard, his skin silky smooth as Harry's fingertips freed it and slowly stroked its length, his eyes feasting on the pink flush spreading above the other man's collar as his head dropped backwards and his mouth opened. Harry leaned in, nibbling and kissing his exposed throat, mouthing at the nipple protuding through the thin material of his t-shirt. 

"I'm going to make you come," Harry repeated firmly, his own balls clenching at the way Malfoy gasped and ran a tongue over his lips. His cock lay heavy in Harry's hand, twitching, leaking as Harry dragged his thumb over the head.

Heart pounding so hard he was dizzy, he dropped to his knees, tugging down Malfoy's jeans as he descended. The man's cock jutted out between them, flushed now and leaking copiously as Harry ran a tongue slowly over the tip.

"Potter..."

Breathless, wanting, Malfoy's chin dropped, grey eyes dark and intent as Harry opened his mouth, looking up from under his lashes as he let the warm weight settle on his tongue. He closed his lips, suckled slowly on the salt-sweet fluid. Malfoy groaned and Harry spurted a little at the sound, his hips moving involuntarily as he sought friction against his own zipper.

He swirled his tongue, one way, then the other, running it up and down the underside before he swallowed deep, one hand kneading Malfoy's ass and the thumb of the other stroking his inner thigh, working under his balls to press against the perineum. Malfoy rocked into his mouth, a stream of muttered curses in what sounded like French falling from his mouth as the pace increased.

Eventually, needing to breathe, Harry pulled off, the noise wet and obscene as Malfoy shuddered and groaned his protest, blond hair falling loose around his face and lips parted as his long eyelashes fluttered. Harry stared at him, stricken, something unexpected churning in his stomach. 

"You're beautiful," he breathed suddenly, shocking himself as much as Malfoy, who froze, his cock jerking against Harry's lips. 

"Oh Merlin," muttered Harry reverently and sucked it deep in one desperate movement, hands tight on the backs of Malfoy's thighs as he swallowed.

Malfoy thrust hard then, hands twisted in Harry's hair as he rutted into his throat with sharp gasps. 

Harry swallowed convulsively, heat scorching his own spine as he felt Malfoy's testicles draw up; he gave a final series of spasmodic thrusts and came in back-arching streams into Harry's throat, blond head thrown back and moaning helplessly. Still swallowing, Harry orgasmed violently, completely untouched. 

Malfoy's cock fell free as his legs gave out and he dropped to his backside, knees either side of Harry's torso. His mouth sought and found Harry's with soft kisses as aftershocks rocked them both.

"Fuck," whispered Harry, their breath mingling and something unfurling inside him that caused him to stroke back Malfoy's damp hair in a tender gesture.

"Yes," agreed Malfoy, voice soft and barely recognisable. "Fuck."   
.

Cont... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Appreciate the kudos and comments - you're awesome! Please keep them coming :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while since the last update - working 24/7 at the moment :(  
> More soon (with smoochy bits) I promise :)

The sharp tingle of a scourgify brought Draco back to the present with a rush. Potter was already on his feet, straightening his clothing and patting at his hair in a vain attempt to calm its waywardness. Embarrassed by his momentary lapse in concentration, Draco rose to his feet quickly and tucked himself away. It wasn't a moment too soon; there was a perfunctory knock and Potter quickly grabbed a file as the door opened.

It was Ron Weasley. His gaze travelled rapidly over Draco and then visibly brightened as it landed on Potter. 

"You ready, Harry? Robards says you have a brief for the team and then we're going out in the field?" 

"Yeah."

Potter smiled at him, cool as cucumber, displaying no hint that he'd just been performing fellatio on none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Can't wait to get out of the office to be honest, mate."

The warmth of the shoulder slap and grin Potter directed at his best friend pulled unexpectedly at Draco's emotions, bringing a slow trickle of regret for what might have been if his life had been different, mixed with a hint of jealousy and a hefty dose of resignation. He sighed and raised a laconic eyebrow. 

"Shall we get on then?"

Weasley ignored him, although he managed to brush by so closely that the hem of his robes flicked across Draco's shins. Draco stood his ground and then followed Potter out of the room.

.

The briefing was blessedly brief. Potter was clearly animated by the possible breakthrough and easily communicated his enthusiasm to a specially formed team comprising himself, Weasley, Ranworth - who looked more like a mild professor than an auror - and bluff and well-built Briggs . An anonymous unspeakable was also attached for the fresh stage of the investigation, but was not actually present.

"So," Harry concluded, "Ranworth, the priority for you and Briggs is finding O'Keefe, Yoki and Romani. Start by tracking down their known associates and so on; Malfoy here will be able to give you some pointers there. Ron and myself will concentrate on the ex-Hogwarts' students, Crowfoot, Dangelos and Smithson."

He swung around to face Draco.

"Can you be ready to leave in 30 minutes or so? We'll check out some of those locations you gave me earlier." 

Draco nodded, flinching internally at the barely concealed dislike on Brigg's face. It didn't matter, he reminded himself. He wasn't there to make friends and putting on an impenetrable front was second nature for a Malfoy, especially one who'd had the dubious pleasure of a noseless psycho as a house guest.

"I've made a list of the bars and restaurants, muggle and wizarding, where pure-blood visitors from overseas like to hang out. Some of them are for members only of course."

He kept his voice cool and impersonal as he unrolled the scroll and pointed to the bottom of the list.

"You'll no doubt be familiar with these haunts." 

Ranworth nodded. "Good places to find customers for something illegal."

Draco handed him the list, fighting an urge to duck as a flock of paper memos skimmed over his head, bringing the disquieting sensation that he was under attack from a barrage of disapproving paperwork. He'd been out of the Wizarding world for far too long.

He fielded a few questions from the two aurors and then strolled over to Potter, who spared him a quick and thoughtful look before ushering them all into the lift. Minutes later they whirled into an unexpectedly fresh breeze at the apparition point not far from Tower Bridge. 

Draco shivered and pulled his jacket closer around himself, eyeing the insidious creep of dark clouds across the uncomfortable looking grey sky with a feeling of foreboding. He hoped it wasn't an omen. 

. 

For the first few hours they worked their way steadily through muggle London. Shops, bars, clubs, restaurants. Sometimes they all entered, although Draco went alone into two of the more exclusive clubs. Potter and Weasley wore a variety of glamours and transfigured clothing, but Draco retained his Malfoy looks, tweaking his clothing to fit the location. By mid-afternoon they'd left a trail of subtle queries behind them that would leave no doubt in the mind of the right wizard or witch that a pureblood was seeking a business contact with some ex-schoolboys from a certain school in Scotland.

"That's it, mate," said Weasley finally, pulling up the neck of his jumper against the spit of cold rain. "That's the last restaurant I'm going in without getting something to eat." 

Potter grimaced at the weather and shrugged his agreement.

"There's a nice caf round the corner. I came down here a couple of times when I was working on the Muldoon case."

Draco trailed after them, stepping through a flutter of premature fallen leaves, the first he'd seen that season. Autumn was coming, the summer months lost in a blur of anxiety and fear and the winter now not far ahead. The year was spiralling down, he thought, rather like his life.

It was a typical old-style London cafe that Potter took them to, the coffee available with or without milk and no fancy frappes or skinny lattes in sight. Misted windows, scarred formica on the table tops and the type of chairs with tubular chrome legs. 

Potter pulled out one of the chairs with a grating noise.

"Food is great," he promised them, tugging the laminated plastic menu out of its holder.

It was no wonder Potter liked the place, thought Draco wryly, holding the slightly greasy menu with his fingertips: bacon sandwiches; cottage pie; treacle tart. None of it would have looked out of place on Hogwarts' tables. He settled for a mug of tea and some cheesy chips and sat picking at them, while Weasley scoffed down an enormous mixed grill and Potter ate his way steadily through cottage pie and a large slice of treacle tart. 

"You should eat more," observed Potter suddenly, a spoonful of tart halfway to his mouth as he frowned at Draco's barely touched plate.

Weasley snorted, muttering something through his food about "posh" and "ferret".

Draco forego his urge to say something. sarcastic, instead ignoring them both, shoving his hands into his pockets and fixing his gaze on an ageing, homeless man in a brown coat, who was settling down in the doorway of a vacant shop opposite the cafe. Nameless and lost, invisible because he'd somehow fallen through the cracks in the society in which he'd lived. It was an uncomfortable thought and far too close to home.

Potter had said something, he realised, was watching him with those intense green eyes, his knee nudging Draco's beneath the table and sending a shiver up his thigh. 

Whatever it was, Potter clearly wasn't going to repeat it, although the firm pressure of his knee remained. After a moment, Draco excused himself and fled to the safety of the basic toilet until the warm heat in his cheeks subsided.

He called at the counter on the way back, ordering a takeaway coffee and bacon sandwich and catching the end of Weasley's puzzled comment about it being "bloody odd" to see Harry worrying about Malfoy, rather than something the ferret was doing. 

"I'm just saying, mate, it takes a bit of getting used to." 

"Let it go, Ron," said Harry, his voice mild although his expression was tight as he stood up. "C'mon, we'd better get back to it."

Draco followed them out, rolling his eyes at Weasley's baffled expression when he handed the coffee and sandwich over to the shop doorway resident.

"Diagon Alley then?" 

Potter was looking directly at him as he spoke and Draco nodded reluctantly; this was the part he'd been dreading. They ducked into a quiet corner just before they reached The Leaky Cauldron where Potter cast a hasty but powerful glamour that left Draco with brown hair, glasses and a light beard.

Minutes later they were in Diagon Alley with Draco's heart thudding and a sick feeling in his stomach. Believe in the glamour, he told himself; no-one knows who you are. It was a weird feeling, being back on a wizarding street, far more so than being in the Ministry. The last time he'd been in Diagon Alley, he'd been hexed twice and someone had thrown a piece of masonry from the Gringotts' repairs at him. The hatred had been palpable and far too visible.

"Knockturn first?" murmured Potter in his ear. 

"Yes. Just myself though, I think, unless you're going to glamour yourselves."

"You go ahead. We'll work our way through the Diagon establishments, see if any of our reliable contacts know anything."

"Our snitches," snorted Weasley, smirking. 

"Don't mind him," Potter explained. "Arthur found out that's what muggles call informants."

"Oh," said Draco faintly. "I'll get on then."

He swallowed hard, pulled himself together with an effort and stalked off in the direction of Winch's Potent Potions.

. 

Harry, safely esconsed in an archway behind a concealment charm, watched Malfoy approach. He would have preferred it if they'd been able to work together, but could see the merits in a solo approach to the more undesirable establishments. It was just that the other man seemed so on edge, although that was understandable, bearing in mind his recent ostracisation from the wizarding world. It didn't look as though his nerves had settled in the time they'd been apart. 

"Over here," Harry called quietly, rewarded by the quick turn of Malfoy's head.

After a rapid check to see the coast was clear, he slipped into the alley alongside Harry and waited, fingers tapping restlessly against his leg, as the concealment charm was reinstated. 

"How'd it go?"

"Not bad. Quite promising actually."

The precise nature of Malfoy's diction left Harry in no doubt that the man was severely rattled. He reached out and stroked a tentative finger over the cool wrist next to his own, shocked by the depth of emotion that surged through the brief contact - nostalgia, loss, distress.

"I'm sorry. This must be hard for you, after..."

"After serving time in Azkaban and being banished from wizarding society?"

Malfoy jerked his wrist away and rubbed at it absently, the set of his mouth bitter.

"I used to love coming here," he added suddenly. "If I did well, Father would take me to Fortescue's or Quality Quidditch Supplies. Everyone who was anyone would come up and want to speak to him. I thought the sun shone out of his arse, Potter. I thought he loved me and I wanted to be just like him." 

He laughed, the sound of it harsh and despairing.

"Then he let that psychopathic narcissist move into the Manor and I realised he only loved himself."

He ran his fingers through his hair in a distracted manner, flicking his troubled grey gaze in Harry's direction.

"They didn't respect him at all, any of them. In the end it was the same obsequious hangers-on who were baying for his blood at the trials."

He took a shaky breath.

"If I dared to take this glamour off now..."

Empty words would not help, so instead Harry caught hold of the hand next to him and gave it a quick squeeze, maintaining the contact when Malfoy did not pull away. After a moment the other man sighed and leaned in slightly, so that a little of his weight rested against Harry's shoulder. 

"Shall we call it a day?" Harry asked quietly.

"Still saving me, Potter." Malfoy noted wearily. "No. We're here now. I might as well call in at The Hag's Skeleton."

Harry suppressed a grimace. "Be careful; the customers..."

"Are the wrong sort."

The other man's mouth was very close, the symmetrical curve of his lips attracting Harry's eye and quickening his pulse. 

"You forget, though," Malfoy continued. "I am one of the wrong sort." 

"No," said Harry, a bit breathless from wanting to kiss the corner of that perfect mouth. "No, you're not. Not any more. What you're doing, it could really make a difference."

"Well, I hope it does," said Malfoy. "Because otherwise I'll be back in Azkaban."

Without waiting for a response, he slipped his fingers free and was gone. Harry swiftly applied a glamour and followed at a distance, progressing steadily down a series of increasingly unsavoury alleys and side streets. Eventually Malfoy turned into a dank courtyard that looked and smelt as though it never saw the sunlight.

The Hag's Skeleton public house was a looming structure, its odd collection of dark roofs partly obscured by the acrid smoke belching out of several scarily leaning chimneys. Malfoy strode across the courtyard, cast a glance at the caged and mouldy skeleton suspended over the doorway and ducked inside. There was a brief blast of wild music and hard laughter and then the door shut behind him.

Harry waited, slouching casually against a damp wall and wishing he'd brought some extendible ears along. George would be ashamed of him.

About fifteen long minutes later there was a muffled thump. Harry straightened, wand tight in his fingers as he began to make his way across the slimy cobbles, but he'd only taken a few paces when there was a massive pulse of magic from inside the pub. The grimy glass exploded from the window frames as blue light and smoke roared out of the chimneys. Harry ran, a shower of broken tiles clattering down around him as he raised his wand and vanished the door.

Malfoy was in the centre of the tap room, surrounded by prostrate and cowering customers and the debris of broken chairs and tables. He was shaking, his gaze fixed on an open door behind the only wizard remaining on his feet, although perhaps saying he was on his feet was an exaggeration, rather he clung to the remnants of the bar, his dirty robe glinting with shattered glass as a puddle of escaped beer grew around his feet.

"It's alright," Malfoy bit out, turning around sharply. "Just a bit of a misunderstanding." 

He stormed outside, leaving Harry with little choice but to follow.

"Hey, wait a minute! What happened in there?"

"Someone recognised me."

"They saw through the glamour?"

"They didn't need to see me. Apparently my smell is very distinctive."

He walked away, throwing a comment over his shoulder. "We're done here, Potter." 

Harry followed him, sending a quick patronus to Ron to let him know that they were alright and that he'd meet him later to explain.

. 

Cont... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hoping to get over that 300 kudo mark this time - looks appealing in a puppy-like way!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of intimacy in this chapter, enjoy!

They apparated straight to Grimmauld Place, setting off a shock wave of concern that rippled through the house and served to increase Harry's anxiety ten-fold. 

"What happened back there?" He insisted. 

Malfoy shrugged, glowering at the memory.

"I bought a drink, made the usual conversational moves. It was going well; in fact I'm sure I had a positive contact with a third party, then that..."

He broke off, the muscle flexing in his jaw.

"Someone who was camped out at the Manor in the War recognised my smell, made a few comments, started casting hexes. I defended myself, but it got a bit out of hand."

Before Harry could reply, the floo crackled into life and Ron stuck his head out of the grate. 

"Are you OK, mate?" 

"We're fine, Ron."

"I got your patronus about the same time a message came through about a blast at The Hag's Skeleton."

"Did Aurors attend?" 

"Yeah, but no-one was talking. They brought in a couple of known suspects. Robards wants Malfoy to take a look, see if he recognises any of them. He doesn't know you were down there today." 

"Let's keep it that way. I'll tell Malfoy not to identify anyone he only recognises from seeing them in the pub."

Harry looked over his shoulder.

"Are you okay to...?" 

"Let's get it over with," snapped Malfoy, heading for the grate. "Step aside, Weasley." 

. 

Robards was waiting for them outside the detention cells. 

"Doesn't this blow my cover?" Malfoy enquired in an icy tone.

"The suspects won't be leaving here, or communicating with anyone, until your investigation is completed."

Robards gave Malfoy a hard look.

"I hope you're keeping a close eye on Mr Malfoy, Harry."

Harry scowled at him and didn't bother respond. Instead he gestured to the door to Detention Cell 1. Malfoy took a quick look inside and shook his head. It was the same in Cells 2, 3 and 4. None of the occupants spoke and none of them appeared to realise they were in the presence of the wizard who had blown their pub apart mere hours before. Harry deduced that the character who'd been able to smell his way past Malfoy's glamour was not in custody. 

Then Robards pointed across the corridor.

"One more," he said in a bland voice, moving aside with a tight smile as Malfoy crossed to the metal door. 

The nature of that particular cell made it necessary to open the outer door and step inside to view a caged area. Some instinct kept Harry close behind Malfoy as he entered and his instincts were proved right immediately. There was the sound of movement and a deep growl resonated through the cell block. Malfoy froze, his breath catching audibly. 

"I knew that was you," sneered a husky voice from the shadows inside the cage. "The Malfoy whelp. I'd recognise that smell anywhere. What's this then? Working for the Ministry now are we? Wouldn't Daddy be disappointed." 

Behind Harry, Robards pushed forwards.

"Well, Mr Malfoy? Surely you recognise this one?"

It didn't seem as though the ex-Death Eater was going to move or speak and Harry took hold of his upper arm in a firm grip, unsure if he was offering mute support or simply preventing Malfoy from backing up into him. Even clothing could not stop the emotional transfer of fear and horror, so intense that Harry flinched as he peered around the other man.

"Mattock!"

Fury reddened Harry's cheeks as he recognised the werewolf. He turned to Robards.

"What are you playing at?" 

It was no secret that Mattock had run with Fenrir's pack or that he'd been a regular visitor and on-site torturer at the Manor, facts with which Robards was well-acquainted. The Head Auror ignored Harry, keeping his sharp gaze on Malfoy.

"I had to be sure," he said simply.

"C'mon," urged Harry, tugging on the arm in his grasp until they were back in the well-lit corridor. Malfoy stumbled along with him, half-falling into Harry's side before righting himself with a curse.

"Merlin!" He gripped at the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, eyes closed, breathing in shallow puffs.

"Sit down," said Harry sharply, pushing him gently towards a wooden bench. Malfoy obliged, sinking down in a surprisingly graceless manner.

"Put your head between your knees."

Malfoy made a small noise of disagreement, but did lean forwards to rest his elbows on his knees. He looked as though he might vomit. 

Robards managed to sound apologetic, a somewhat difficult feat given the amount of satisfaction on his features.

"I had to make certain he was on our side," he insisted. "There's too much at stake to risk a Death Eater plot getting off the ground."

He raised a hand at Harry's expression.

"I know, you found him, not the other way around, but it could have been a set-up from the start."

Harry swallowed the venom he felt and settled for a cold glare at his boss.

"We're going now," he stated flatly, seriously tempted to simply disapparate through the wards again.

Robards must have read his body language because he straightened with alarm and rushed to offer the use of his private Floo.

. 

They burst out of the Floo into the calm ambience of the main parlour in Grimmauld Place, the leather settees and warm lamplight a welcome relief after the stark lights of the detention block. Harsh, white lighting had been a modernisation approved by Robards himself, on the grounds the old-style candlelit lamps were reassuring to the average wizarding criminal, who most likely had that sort of lighting at home.

Harry turned, on his lips were anxious questions he had no idea how to present, but they were never uttered, forestalled by the broken air of the man before him.

Malfoy stood perfectly still for a moment, his face white and set, then he took a deliberate step forwards into Harry's personal space, grey eyes wide and his fingers tracing a shaky path along Harry's hip. Harry understood, with shocking clarity, that they were going to fuck, and that it was somehow essential to Malfoy's sanity that they did so right now and at his instigation. It made Harry a little breathless, stirring adrenaline in his belly, that understanding and the subsequent willing acquiescence of any control he had over the situation.

He waited patiently, his stance open and welcoming as Malfoy leaned in and pressed a ghost of a kiss against Harry's lips, its tentative nature making it clear it was a request for permission. Even that soft touch of cool lips was enough to send Harry's blood rushing south and he was more than ready when Malfoy closed the remaining gap between them, fastened his hands on Harry's hips and kissed him again.

Their mouths moved together, opening soft and sweet at first and then faster and more forcefully as their desire heightened. Harry's hand found its way into the soft fall of hair at the back of Malfoy's skull while the other hand reached around, taking a firm arse cheek and tugging Malfoy flush against him, hip-bone against hip-bone, chest against muscle, hard flesh against hard flesh. Malfoy's hands slid under his shirt, one caressing his back while the other pushed up between them, long fingers finding and rolling his nipple and sending sparks along his nerves to his groin.

"Clothes," murmured Malfoy, a question in the arch of his eyebrow.

Harry nodded and just like that, they were gone, draped neatly over a chair even as his skin shuddered with the shock of the cool air. Then Malfoy was naked too, his body lean and sculpted and warm against him and Harry was instantly hard, wanting the other man with every fibre of his being. 

"You're beautiful," he blurted awkwardly for the second time that day and then they were on the floor, the woven rug coarse under his back and a desperate and vulnerable set to Malfoy's features that made Harry's chest constrict with the urge to protect him, even as his cock jerked against the heat of the man's thigh.

He waited, letting Malfoy make the play, contenting himself with the slide of his hands over the long planes of Malfoy's back, the bone-deep pleasure of his weight lying between Harry's thighs.

Malfoy leaned down and kissed him again, their tongues curling wantonly around each other. The brush of stubble against cheek, teeth against jaw and neck and collarbone built the tension until they were both leaking, a warm pool sliding between them on belly and groin.

Then Malfoy was moving down, his tongue caressing Harry's nipples, teeth nipping at his stomach and at the soft skin inside the dip of his hip-bones. Fingers fondled him as Malfoy's wet tongue and warm breath worked the inside of Harry's thighs until he was gasping his need and pushing his hips up against the cool silk of the other man's hair.

Finally a warm mouth encircled him, pulled him in, slowly, tasting, caressing, sucking. It was familiar, yet completely different than Ginny's enthusiastic efforts, than the surprise of that first gent's room blow-job just before Harry's relationship fell apart and he'd realised that he wasn't as straight as he'd thought.

Malfoy's mouth was pure bliss, lavishing care as his tongue traced slow stripes, then dipped into the coarse hairs at his base, teased his testicles and the sensitive skin beneath. Harry arched desperately into him, much too close to do more than groan and pat stupidly at the crown of Malfoy's head in warning. 

Malfoy pulled off, looking at him with a considering gaze as the air settled icily around the places where his warm mouth had been. His lips were wet and shiny and Harry made an embarrassing mewling sound at the sight, unable to stop the instinctive rise of his hips. 

Then Malfoy knelt up between Harry's thighs, taking himself in hand and sliding his fingers up and down his own length, swirling his thumb over his slit and spreading pearly pre-cum over the gleaming head. Harry raised himself onto his elbows, watching avidly as Malfoy reached one hand behind himself and whispered a spell. His eyes went wide, startled, almost frightened, then he moved forwards with determination so that his knees were on either side of Harry's hips, a question on his face. 

"Only if you want to?"

Malfoy nodded. Harry was rigid, his balls clenching in anticipation as Malfoy slowly positioned himself and then lowered himself until Harry was nudging against his entrance. 

Harry moaned, nearly losing control as he felt himself sliding inside, slow inch by slow inch, squeezing past the ring of muscle as Malfoy settled, taking him inside deeper and deeper until they were bone against bone, a strange, hard clench to the other man's expression and his face as white as the teeth showing through his parted lips. 

Concerned, Harry reached up, rubbing soothing patterns with his thumbs along the bunched muscles of Malfoy's thighs, up over his hips. Keeping eye contact, he slowly sucked the fingers of one hand into his mouth, wrapped them slick around Malfoy's cock and pulled gently, setting up a rhythm that milked a slow ooze of fluid that glistened as he used it to lubricate his strokes. Malfoy's breath quickened, his mouth opening a little more as he began to rock, slowly at first, the momentum building as he raised himself, sliding back down with a slight twist that sent a red flush into his cheeks. Harry pushed upwards, meeting each descent with increasing force, his hands moving involuntarily to grasp jutting hip-bones as Malfoy's head went back, throat and chest flushed, his breath audible as he slammed himself down to meet Harry's thrusts. Just looking at him was enough to send Harry over the edge. 

"Malfoy!" He gasped. "I...I need..."

Malfoy glanced down at him, his eyes silver and shielded. "Come on then, Potter."

And Harry did, hips thrusting upwards jerkily as he emptied himself in searing spasms.

He was still gasping for breath when he felt Malfoy lifting away, his cock jutting in front of him and flushed pink. 

"Wait." Harry snared his wrist, wrapped his fingers around it. "Don't go." He raised the wrist and kissed Malfoy's knuckles. "Upstairs. Please." 

Without waiting for a verbal response, he apparated them both to his bedroom and toppled Malfoy onto the bed.

. 

Draco fell onto cool sheets, Potter close beside him. Immediately Potter raised himself on one elbow, turning towards Draco and draping an arm over his waist. His fingers caressed Draco's ribs, soothing and titillating at the same time.

After a moment he shifted the hand upwards and gently moved a few strands of hair away from Draco's heated forehead. His green eyes were intense, full of unspoken questions. Draco imagined they would be along the lines of "What was that?", "Why didn't you?" and maybe even "Why now?" Thankfully he didn't say anything and Draco was able to catch his breath, although Potter's meandering fingers did nothing to slow the pounding of his heart or lessen the throbbing in his groin.

It was almost affectionate, the way Potter was stroking him with his work-roughened fingertips, the way he kissed Draco softly on the corner of his mouth and mouthed the side of his neck. Draco steeled himself mentally from the hurt that would result if he let himself believe such things; Potter was a hugger, that's all. It didn't mean anything other than he was basically a nice person and wanted to make sure Draco was alright and got off too.

Potter's hand worked its way down, caressing Draco's inner thigh as he laid kisses along his throat, teeth scraping lightly at the juncture of his neck and collarbone.

Draco shuddered, allowing the dominance of Potter leaning over him, partly because it was Harry Potter and he trusted him, partly because his backside and thighs were already slick with Potter's semen, mainly because Draco's last experience of being penetrated was now a pleasurable, consensual thing rather than a scene from nightmare.

Potter seemed to read the change, or perhaps some inkling of it was transmitted between their skin. Whatever the reason, his movements became more focussed, his hand closing around Draco as his teeth caught at his throat. Then a firm hand had turned him onto his side, fingers spreading across the flat muscles of Draco's stomach and pulling him back against Potter's body. Potter was erect again, hard flesh sliding in the slick of Draco's crack and Draco pushed his hips back, raising one thigh, feeling the blunt end of Potter's cock rubbing tantalisingly over his entrance before pushing back inside. 

Potter sheathed himself fully, his breathy groan hot against the nape of Draco's neck, sending vibrations running through his nerves. He rocked back, forcing Potter deeper and Potter cursed, threw a heavy thigh over him, half turning him into the mattress as he began to fuck into him in earnest. Draco grasped at the mattress, braced one hand against the headboard, pushing back wildly into the thrusts as Potter dragged over his prostrate. He made a noise then, helpless, wanting, crushed into the mattress as Potter gripped his hips and rutted hard into him, grinding over his prostrate with every flex of his hips. 

Draco's balls clenched, his back arching as sensation built and built until it exploded and he came, shuddering and crying out with Potter following immediately, shooting hot and deep into him. Then Potter's hand was on his cock, the pad of his thumb sliding over the super-sensitised tip. 

"Draco," he whispered, "Draco," and Draco came again, moaning as the room went white and silent as he arched into Potter's embrace.

He came back to himself briefly to find Potter stroking his face and looking at him with a soft and curious expression in his eyes. Draco wanted to watch him for longer, but it was warm and comfortable and he was suddenly very tired. Unthinking, he turned his face into Potter's chest and fell asleep. 

. 

Cont...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to hear from you. Make me happy and send me some kudos! Thanks for reading :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may notice a harshness to the way things progress in this chapter. Reason being, I am currently re-reading all the HP books, which I haven't done for a while. Having reached as far as The Goblet of Fire, I've been struck by how much more unpleasant Draco seems in print to film. There is really no redeeming hint in his behaviour right up until the events of the Quidditch World Cup. This is no doubt due to a combination of the fact that the films are an adaptation and of Tom Felton's undeniable charm. In this chapter I wanted to tip a hat to the original text and acknowledge the fact that it is very hard to throw off your expectations of a person's likely behaviour, even if they appear to have changed and even if you want desperately to believe that they have changed. Similarly, Draco's own self-belief was so destroyed in the later Hogwarts' years that his own self-worth would be very low. An interesting combination, worthy of exploration!

Draco woke, knowing instantly that Potter was gone. When his hand found only the cold depression where the other man's body had lain, it did not bring any sense of surprise, only resignation. He opened his eyes without enthusiasm to a view of rumpled pillows and beyond them a note scribbled on piece of paper, its ragged edge showing its origins had been one of those muggle notebooks that were bound together with spirals of wire.

Draco sat up slowly, analysing and accepting the ache and soreness of his body as a price willingly paid for the intimacy of the previous night. He summoned the note with a lazy flick of his fingers and deciphered the scrawl with some difficulty.

"Ranworth and Briggs have a lead. Meeting with them early. I'll floo you when I know where we're heading."

Draco ran a hand over his scalp, cast a cleansing charm at the bed and headed off for a shower.  
.

Ron's face was flushed, his face earnest.

"Look, Harry, you've got to treat this seriously."

"I am, Ron. But that doesn't mean I'm going to jump to conclusions."

"It's evidence, mate."

"Of what? The name Malfoy on a ledger? A ledger without a date? And no indication which Malfoy?"

"A ledger Ranworth found in premises we now know were leased out to Romani for an import business. Harry, it's just the break we've been waiting for!" 

Harry frowned at him.

"We wouldn't even know about Romani if Malfoy hadn't made the potions connection. He'd hardly incrimate himself!" 

"Just look at what Ranworth seized though. That poncy handwriting on the order looks a lot like Malfoy's. Merlin knows Snape shoved it under our noses enough!"

Ron imitated Snape's derisory drawl.

"That, Weasley, is a correctly presented essay. I don't expect something written with a broomhandle dipped in cheap dye. Or did an impoverished spider from your trunk collapse in your ink and enjoy its death throes on your sub-standard parchment? A blessed relief from the daily grind of being a Weasley spider, I'm sure."

Harry snorted, torn between amusement, duty and anxiety at the implications of the find.

"Ranworth didn't go through the ledger?"

"No. He handed in the box of stuff late last night and went off home. I was flicking through this morning and there it was."

"So no-one knows but us?"

Ron eyed him uneasily.

"No. Why?" 

"Let's keep it that way for now."

Harry raised a hand at the argumentative look on Ron's face.

"Just for a few days. See what else we turn up before we start throwing accusations around."

"Look Harry, I know you feel sort of responsible for Malfoy, but you can't forget he's still the same lying git he always was!" 

"It's not that," Harry interjected quickly, torn between his desire to protect Malfoy and his loyalty to his best friend."

He's been a help so far," he said in a placating tone. "Let's not alienate him for the sake of it. We'll check it out and decide what to do when we've more facts." 

Ron was visibly reluctant but demonstrated his own loyalty by acquiescing with a grumble, leaving Harry with a headache and a dilemma he really didn't know how to tackle. He poured himself a cup of bitter coffee in the Auror's break room, thinking morosely that all things considered it would probably have been easier if he wasn't shagging a suspect he was meant to be monitoring.

Briggs and Ranworth turned up a few minutes later and they spent half an hour or so debriefing the raid on the warehouse. They were finishing off when a memo from the Research Department bounced off Harry's forehead. He swiped it from mid-air and smoothed it out. 

"The landlord, he's got another five warehouses. So, maybe more than one is being used by Romani? Oh, and Hermione is joining us to serve the warrants." 

This development probably had more to do with Hermione's vested interest in the case than any real need for her presence, but Harry reckoned another set of eyes wouldn't go amiss.

There was also the fact that although all of the warehouses were wizard-owned, three of them were in muggle London and a Wizarding Warrant alone was not sufficient. Hermione had contacts in the muggle courts and police force and was particularly friendly with the squib Detective Sergeant who would be accompanying them. 

All that remained was to collect Malfoy.

Harry's thoughts were in turmoil so far as that particular individual was concerned; he was seriously tempted to leave him behind until he'd had a chance to separate his feelings and the facts but couldn't decide on any way of doing so without raising the other man's suspicions that he was deliberately being excluded from something. 

Besides, his Auror training suggested, it would be interesting to see how Malfoy reacted on being apparated into one of the warehouses. That thought made him feel horribly guilty; Malfoy had changed for the better, whether Ron could see it or not, and he'd seemed so genuine when he brought up the potions competition theory.

Harry's Auror training countered that teenage Malfoy had been able to put on an impressive false front both at Hogwarts and at Malfoy Manor when he was dealing with Merlin knows what; there was no reason to believe adult Malfoy was any less proficient at deception. 

Not knowing what to think and unable to shake off a feeling of intense disappointment and confusion, Harry miserably accepted that he was hopelessly emotionally compromised and reluctantly flooed back to Grimmauld Place.  
.

From the minute Potter stepped out of the Floo, Draco knew something was wrong. He felt the smile stiffen on his face as his stomach gave an uneasy lurch. Potter looked desperately unhappy. 

"Ready?" he asked, evading eye contact and not offering any indication of where they were going. 

Draco decided not to ask; it wasn't as though he'd have any say in the matter anyway. Sex and unfortunate feelings aside, he was still essentially in Potter's custody until such time as the Ministry was done with him. With this in mind, he drew on a lifetime of practice and assumed a politely disinterested expression as he shrugged on his leather jacket. The weight of it settling across his shoulders grounded him and he stepped resolutely towards the Floo, the soles of his dragon-hide boots firm against the parquet floor.

"We'll apparate," said Potter hurriedly, his hand grasping Draco's upper arm.

To his alarm, Draco picked up a surge of sorrow and suspicion despite the thickness of the leather. Something had changed dramatically he thought, the moment of realisation fractured by the sharp snap of apparition.

They landed in the dim shadows of a small warehouse, a residual smell indicating to the experienced nose that it had been used for the storage of herbs and minerals.

Draco looked around; there was nothing there but a few empty pallets, an over-turned barrel and some scraps of rubbish. He turned an enquiring eye on Potter, who seemed to be studying him carefully. 

"And this is?" He drawled. 

"Storage facility."

"Right." Draco clenched his jaw, almost certain he was being tested in some way. "Did you find anything?" 

"Not here," said Potter simply. "Do you recognise the place." 

Draco reclined against the nearest wall and raised an eyebrow, boredom suffusing his tone. "Should I?"

Potter stared back at him, clearly frustrated. He dragged a hand through his hair with a sigh. "We'll move on then. If you're sure?"

In mute answer, Draco straightened and proffered his forearm, his heart giving an unwelcome twinge when Potter's warm fingers brushed briefly against his own as he took hold of it. 

There was a group of people waiting for them outside a second warehouse. Draco observed the muggle policeman with surprise, then noted the presence of Granger with a sheaf of papers she appeared to be serving on an irate-looking man in a cheap suit.

Again Potter seemed to be watching his every move. He was not alone; Weasley's eyes held an almost avaricious glint as he stared openly at Draco and it was noticeable that his hand hovered suspiciously near to his wand holster. 

Hunching his shoulders against the chill wind whipping across the empty yard, Draco made a show of looking around at the nearby buildings; they were old, probably Victorian, red brick and squat under the leaden sky. He estimated they were just inside the boundaries of Wizarding London.

The irritated man said something to Granger that was lost to the wind and pushed a sheet of paper inside his jacket. He proceeded to open up the warehouse door with a key selected from a jangling bunch. Briggs and Ranworth crowded behind him, with the muggle officer in close pursuit. 

"We'll give them a few minutes," stated Harry.

For someone who'd faced down a Dark Lord, he seemed uncharacteristically rattled, his fingers picking at a frayed thread on his hoodie and his gaze shuttling between Weasley, the warehouse and Draco. 

Draco pretended to ignore him. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit up, keeping it casual, hoping the smoke would steady his nerves and that his hand wasn't shaking too noticeably. 

They'd found something, he thought bitterly. Something that wasn't in his favour. What were the odds of that when this business had nothing to do with him? It was just his luck really.

At first he'd made the obvious assumption that Potter was regretting their intimacy had gone as far as it had. Bearing in mind their past history, that would be no real surprise. It was remarkable they'd even been able to occupy the same space in a civil manner for any length of time. 

Unfortunately, as Weasley was clearly anticipating entertainment of the Draco-bashing variety, there was something more, which meant it must be something to do with the case. 

He found he didn't care much about Weasley, but the sudden difference in Potter's attitude ate at him. It was the Hogwarts' years all over again. Not that he hadn't deserved it then of course, more than deserved it; by his own admission he'd been a self-centered, misguided prat. But now, even though he still felt he deserved it, now it hurt, a soul-deep acid that burnt angrily at the ragged shreds of his self-worth.

Draco flicked ash into the wind, deliberately timing it so a gust swept it towards Weasley, who grimaced and swore. Draco smirked at him, because that's what Weasley would expect, the hollowness in his belly untouched by the small amusement and the sickening, nervous throb of his pulse undiminished. He was in trouble and he didn't know why.

A couple of minutes later the group re-emerged. 

"Nothing," Ranworth informed them in a bleak tone. "Location 3?"

Unannounced apparition snatched at Draco's belly and he stumbled badly on arrival, irritated enough by the day to snarl a frosty protest.

"A little warning next time, Potter!" 

Potter caught at him, steadying him automatically with a hand splayed around his waist that caused the direction of Draco's stumble to reverse. He fell briefly into Potter's embrace, thigh colliding with warm thigh and his heart stuttered, answered by the darkening of Potter's cheeks. They froze. A jolt of magic passed between them, undiluted emotions too jumbled to interpret. 

"Harry?" 

It was Weasley, puzzlement in his voice and an odd look on his face and immediately Potter stepped away and strode off into the warehouse, his cheeks now flaming. 

"Hey, Harry! Wait up mate!" 

Draco watched them go, realising belatedly that Granger was beside him. If her shrewd expression was anything to go by, she'd had a front row seat to the play of expressions across Draco's face.

"Of course," she said carefully. "Romani may not have actually kept anything illegal in any of these warehouses."

So that was why they were there. Draco was grateful to her. It was becoming a habit, he mused, not one he'd ever expected to acquire. He was about to enquire how many premises they intended to search when his thoughts were interrupted by a crackle of sparks, the sound of Weasley shouting and the crack of apparition. A bulldog patronus skimmed past his leg and hurtled out of sight. 

"Fuck!"

Potter's head popped around the doorframe; he stabbed a finger in the direction of Briggs and Ranworth.

"Four," he yelled at them, then looked directly at Granger. "Five!" 

"May I?" Granger queried in a polite tone that seemed out of place in the circumstances. 

Draco nodded and her hand took his elbow. The strength of her magic surprised him, although he didn't know why. Much to his aggravation she'd regularly exceeded his marks at school and she was a member of the Golden Trio after all. He supposed he'd thought her main strengths were academic rather than physical, notwithstanding her right hook. He hoped his sense of genuine surprise wasn't a left-over from his upbringing and the repetitive message that muggle-borns were magically inferior.

They landed smack in the middle of a furious fight. In front of them Weasley was trading livid-coloured curses with a white haired wizard while Potter held off a younger wizard and a tall witch with a casual grace that made it look easy, although Draco could feel the surges of power from where he stood. The bulldog patronus circled them, still trying desperately to deliver its message.

A fourth figure burst into the cavernous space through a side door to the left and his "Stupefy!" was a split second later than Granger's sharp "Incarcerous!" The curses collided, writhing on the floor like a tangled mass of highly charged snakes. 

Hoping his wandless magic was precise enough, Draco threw a "Protego" over Granger to buy her time when her wand unlocked. He turned back to see Weasley was now down on one knee as he cast a swift binding spell over the white haired figure before him. 

Potter already had one of his assailants immobilised and floating in mid-air and it was as he turned away to fling "Incarcerous" at the witch that a figure popped into sight on the right, at the periphery of Draco's vision. He swung his head over his shoulder, identified a furious-looking Romani and hurled an impressively solid "Protego" over Potter at the same time as Romani shouted something unintelligible and a jet of lurid purple streaked out of his wand and towards Potter.

The curse splintered over the shield, violently brilliant purple veins racing across its surface; it did not penetrate the shield to reach its target, but did cause it to fracture and collapse as the purple veins faded away. 

Potter, the witch now bound, began to twist around rapidly towards the noise, but at the same moment Romani leaped behind Draco and cast again over Draco's shoulder. Ice blue fire crackled past his right ear, heading straight for Potter.

A wall of light temporarily blocked Potter from view as Granger shrieked out "Protego" and the ice blue curse shattered against the shield she hastily threw at Potter.

Too close to cast, Draco twisted and punched Romani in the face with all his strength. The wizard fell backwards to the floor, kicking out and causing Draco to stagger in Potter's direction, then Romani rolled and came up to his feet with blue lightning streaking from his wand. Draco raised his hand to cast another "Protego" over Potter, realised it was too late and with no idea why he did it, stepped in front of the curse. It hit him between the shoulder blades with an icy thud similar to being struck by a giant snowball. 

It was fortunate that Hermione's "Stupefy" hit Romani as he cast, for much of the power behind the curse was lost. 

It was equally unfortunate that, partially dazzled, Potter saw the blue streak of light and Draco with his hand raised. He raised his own shield immediately and threw "Immobolus" at Draco, then with a look of intense betrayal on his face he yelled something to Weasley and they disapparated with a loud crack.

Granger's "Finite Incantatum" released Draco seconds later; he stumbled, an icy feeling wriggling over his spine. 

"Malfoy?" 

Granger sounded unsure, maybe even concerned, looking quickly over at him as she checked the wizards and witch were all securely bound and immobilised.

Draco nodded, a bit breathless from the impact. He had no idea what the curse had been but its effects seemed to be minor, thanks to Granger's intervention. 

"Thank you," he said quietly. At this rate he would never be able to repay his debts to her. 

She faced him then, hands on her hips, reminding him powerfully of her rather bossy Hogwarts persona.

"You stepped in front of that curse," she said in an accusatory tone.

Draco shivered involuntarily and shrugged. "Potter thought I was cursing him," he noted bleakly.

"No. Well...maybe. It's not as though it would be the first time."

Granger's frown pinched as she regarded Draco's expression.

"I'll make sure he knows what really happened," she said quickly, then added in a different tone, "Are you hurt?" 

"No. You deflected most of it, I think."

"You could have been killed!" 

"A relief to us all," noted Draco in a rather snotty manner.

He gestured at the unconscious bodies.

"What are we supposed to do with these? There must be an Auror disposal detail surely? Whatever is the Ministry coming to?" 

In response, Granger's otter patronus leaped past him, dissipating the remnants of the spectral bulldog as it did so. She approached him then, turning him gently with a hand on his arm. He felt her fingers run across the back of his jacket and heard the frown in her voice. 

"I've never seen that curse before. It hasn't even marked your jacket. Are you sure you feel alright?"

"I'm fine, Granger." 

He was feeling a bit chilled but wasn't about to admit that to Granger, not after the whole hippogriff debacle. However it seemed Granger had her mind on other things. 

"Harry couldn't see properly," she said quietly.

"He saw what he expected to," replied Draco, somehow managing to keep his tone and face devoid of expression. 

It was as well he did, for the Auror detail chose that moment to arrive and Potter was close on their heels and his face was white and angry. Granger pulled him aside, speaking urgently, but Draco didn't wait around.

Enough was enough. Hoping he didn't splinch himself, he disapparated with a flourish.

Cont... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending much appreciation for reading!  
> Sorry the updates are a little slow but work demands are pretty much 24/7 at the moment so I just have to chip away at the story sentence by sentence. 
> 
> Please do take the time to leave a comment or a kudo - they mean so much and inspire those updates! 
> 
> I feel sure Harry will be feeling very guilty soon, so keep reading for more Drarry goodness ;-)


	18. Feelings

Hermione's hand restrained him, the grip of her delicate fingers combining with the power of her urgent explanations to erode the rage that burned in him. It was a long time since Harry had felt so angry, so betrayed and so very disappointed.

Malfoy had done nothing wrong, she insisted. He'd managed to throw a couple of effective shields, without either wand or word as far as she could recall, being a little busy herself at the time.

"He cast a curse," snapped Harry, still unable to believe it had really happened. "At me!"

His pride and feelings were smarting. Ron's face had already spoken volumes without him uttering a single word and Harry had been more than pleased to leave him in charge of the last seized warehouse. 

"No, Harry."

Hermione pulled him around to face her.

"Romani threw the curse. Malfoy put himself in front of it."

"That's not like him," snarled Harry, too hurt to think clearly. "Did he trip or something trying to run away?"

She eyed him with disappointment.

"He stepped in front of it," she said disapprovingly. "To stop it hitting you!" 

The scene replayed itself in Harry's mind. Again he saw the glare of a curse shattering over a shield, Malfoy with his hand raised, the twisting arc of blue light...and a dark figure behind him. 

"It was Malfoy," he repeated, doubt creeping into his tone. 

"No," she insisted. "I was looking right at him, Harry!" 

It was as though someone had poured cold water down his spine. He felt his face go white. 

"But..." Harry swallowed, the awfulness of the situation making him feel sick. "Immobolus," he whispered. "I cast immobolus at him, Hermione!"

"It was a mistake, Harry. I released him straight away. You couldn't see properly." 

"But I thought he'd done it!"

His voice rose.

"I'm just like everyone else, aren't I? I thought he'd cursed me because he's Malfoy. Because of his name, not because of who he is now."

He rounded on her, almost shouting.

"And he's changed. I know he's changed." 

He tugged distractedly at his hair, almost tearing out a tuft as his voice went up a pitch. 

"Merlin, Hermione! What must he be thinking? I've got to find him and try and explain...apologise!"

She stroked his arm soothingly, nodding.

"I think that would be a good idea." Then she added carefully, "You two seemed to be getting on better?" 

"Yes," said Harry bleakly. "We were. Did he say where he was going?" 

She shook her head and with a sound of frustration, Harry disapparated.

.

Malfoy was not in Regent's Park. He was not at Grimmauld Place. His flat was empty. 

Shaking with anxiety, Harry apparated back to Grimmauld Place and flooed to the Ministry. He stormed towards his office with such a scowl on his face that no-one spoke to him and a nervous-looking witch in the lift actually tucked herself into one corner and pretended to be reading The Daily Prophet, although she was holding it upside down. 

He burst into the office at some speed and came to an abrupt halt. Malfoy was seated behind Harry's desk with a disdainful expression on his face. He'd obviously taken the time to visit Grimmauld Place himself as he was now wearing a deep blue jumper under his leather jacket. It deepened the colour of his grey eyes so they looked stormy and troubled. 

"Malfoy."

Harry swallowed, unsure how to begin.

"Potter."

The 'p' was particularly sharp, reminiscent of their schooldays. 

"I owe you an apology," blurted Harry, with Gryffindor honesty.

"Not necessary I assure you." 

"Hermione explained what you did...I couldn't see..." 

"You saw what you expected to see," replied Malfoy in a bored voice. "Let's just get on with the case, shall we?"

He pushed a ledger in Harry's direction and Harry's heart sank.

"I presume you think I'm involved in this racket?"

An elegant finger tapped testily at the words on the yellowed parchment. Harry didn't have to look to know that Malfoy was pointing to his own name. 

"I don't know. I hope not," he said honestly.

"When were you planning to ask? After we'd shagged a few more times perhaps?"

Malfoy's tone was sharp, his face paler than normal in the weak sunlight that filtered in through the small window.

"No!" Harry protested. "I only found out about it this morning. I was going to ask you about it." 

"After you'd seen how I reacted when you dumped me in the middle of a warehouse?" said Malfoy shrewdly. "How very Slytherin of you." 

Harry felt his cheeks heating. He dragged out the visitor's chair and dropped into it with a defensive frown, unable to think of anything that came even close to an excuse for that particular decision. 

"Well, I'm asking now. Is that you in the ledger." 

"Yes."

"I don't get it. Why would you give me Romani's name if you knew it'd incriminate you?" 

Malfoy stood. He wandered over to the small window, turning to face the sunshine so that his head and shoulders became a black silhouette.

"It doesn't really matter what I do or say, does it? They want to see me back in Azkaban and they'll stop at nothing to get me there." 

"I don't want to see you there," answered Harry firmly. "So why don't you just answer the question and maybe I can help. Why give me his name if you were buying from Romani?"

"I wasn't buying from Romani. As far as I knew, I was buying from a small-time potion supplier." 

"Go on." Harry stood too, walking around the desk and propping his hip against it, trying not to think about the way Malfoy had looked, right there, when Harry had his mouth around him. 

"After Azkaban," offered Malfoy slowly. "I couldn't visit Diagon Alley, but I found someone who was willing to sell me some supplies."

"What did you buy?" 

"There wasn't any point buying much. No magic, remember? But there was one thing."

He turned to face Harry. 

"Lethe River Water."

"Lethe...?"

"River Water."Malfoy dropped his gaze, his blond hair falling forwards." It helps you to forget, Potter."

"Forget Azkaban?"

"Among other things." 

"Did it work?"

"No. It wasn't strong enough." Malfoy shivered, unconsciously pulling the sides of his jacket closer together. He kept his face angled down so Harry could see little but the fall of his hair and the soft curve of his mouth.

"Is it illegal, this water?" 

"No. It's medicinal. But I wasn't meant to have it, so..." He shrugged. "They'll believe the worst, I'm sure." 

"They'll have to believe what I tell them," said Harry shortly. "We wouldn't have Romani without your help." 

He looked again at Malfoy, wondering at the reason for the jumper and jacket in the heat of the office, but his thoughts were interrupted when Auror Daniel popped his head around the door. 

"Robards is ready for the debrief, Harry." 

"Right," said Harry. "I'll be along in a couple of minutes." 

"I'll wait here."

Malfoy lowered himself into Harry's chair and dropped his head against the backrest, his long legs sprawling before him, the hint of lean muscle and the outline of his knees beneath the denim of his jeans absurdly attractive.

. 

Some time later, debrief over, Harry thanked everyone for their hard work and summoned his notes, shrinking them with a flick of his wand. Ron had hung back when the others departed and they walked out of the briefing room together. 

"It's a good start," said Harry. "We've seized enough illegal goods to lock up Romani and a few others, but we still need to prove they've been tampering with potions brewed by Crowfoot, Dangelos and Smithson."

"Did I tell you?" Ron interjected. "Briggs found out all three of the ex-Slytherins are trading illegally under the name Snakeskin Potions?" 

"That name comes up on quite a few of the poisoning incident reports." Harry sighed. "We're getting close now; I can feel it, but it'd be easier if Snakeskin Potions wasn't a shady supplier too." 

He paused to slap Ron on the shoulder.

"Thanks for today, mate; couldn't have done it without you." 

Ron shrugged. "We're partners, 'nuff said."

They walked in companiable silence until they reached the lifts, then Ron mentioned casually that he'd spoken to Hermione. 

"She seemed to think Malfoy stepped in front of a curse for you. Doesn't sound like the Malfoy we knew though. I told her she must be seeing things. I mean, as if, mate!"

Privately thinking that Ron must like living dangerously if he'd told Hermione she was seeing things, Harry fumbled for an answer. 

"Er, yeah," he said awkwardly. "He did..er, step in front of it."

Ron gave a low whistle. "Not like the ferret! Maybe he's trying to repay some of those life debts he owes you?"

"Maybe," Harry muttered, wondering if that was Malfoy's motivation. 

"So?" Ron waited expectantly. When Harry didn't answer, he continued impatiently. "So, what curse was it? Is he hurt?"

"I don't know what it was," Harry admitted. "I didn't get chance to ask. He looked okay though." 

His insides were churning violently at the realisation that in the heat of the moment he hadn't actually asked if Malfoy was okay. He'd been distracted by the ledger, and the man had looked alright, but he should have checked. It was just Malfoy hadn't said he was hurt and he used to make such a fuss about everything...but that was then, not now, his inner voice reprimanded. Malfoy hadn't exactly made a fuss when Harry had found him in Regent's Park; in fact Harry still didn't know exactly what had happened to him.

More anxious by the second, he rushed away, Ron trailing behind him, looking rather puzzled at the sudden haste. A few minutes later and cursing himself at every step, Harry burst into the office, the door slamming into the wall and rebounding with the speed of his entry. Malfoy, still seated in Harry's chair, raised a laconic eyebrow. 

"Late for something, are we?" 

His hair shone pale gold in the light from the little window and Harry found himself suddenly tongue-tied in a way he had not been since he first noticed Cho Chang back at Hogwarts.

Completely taken unawares by Harry's abrupt halt, Ron bumped into him from behind, causing him to stumble into the office and the corner of Malfoy's lip to curve into the suggestion of a smirk. 

Ron righted himself with a frown. "Yeah, mate; what's all the rush about?" 

"What? Er, no rush. None. Got some things to see to...yeah things, you know." 

"Right," said Ron. "Everything alright, Harry?"

"Great. Yeah, great," replied Harry with false cheer, wishing the ground would swallow him up.

"Okay. If you're sure." He gave Harry a strange look. "Alright if I head off then, mate."

"Course. I'll see you in the morning. Oh, and Ron, thank Hermione for me, will you?"

With a last puzzled glance, Ron was gone. Harry turned to Malfoy immediately. 

"You got hit by that curse. I never asked if you were alright?" 

"I'm fine, Potter." 

"Why did you jump in front of it?" 

Malfoy looked surprised, then mildly irritated. He rose to his feet. 

"Oh, who knows? Maybe I didn't want you to get hurt?"

Harry frowned; it wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. Malfoy's eyes narrowed. 

"Is that so hard to believe? I'm not the person I was at school, you know. That Draco was a brat - a mis-guided, foolish, arrogant, selfish little shite. But he grew up."

Harry swallowed. "I know. It's just sometimes I find it hard to remember that. We hated each other for such a long time."

Malfoy dropped his gaze to the floor, speaking softly. "I don't think I ever hated you, Potter. I hated what you represented. I resented the fact that you got away with everything and I hated that you were always better than me, when my father wanted so much for me to be the best at everything, but I never hated you."

"You gave a bloody good impression of it," said Harry angrily.

It was strange that even after so many years, part of him was still enraged at the way Malfoy and his friends had treated Ron and Hermione, at the hurt he'd caused by running to his father and Rita Skeeter telling lies about Hagrid and Buckbeak, about Sirius and Lupin and so many other things.

A long suppressed hurt and anger bubbled up and boiled over, taking him quite by surprise and Harry clenched his fists involuntarily, torn between rage, bemusement that he still felt that way when so many other, bigger things had happened in the intervening years, and an overpowering irritation that despite everything at least part of him still wanted to snog the face off Malfoy. 

"Look," he snapped defensively. "Things got all turned around in sixth year and I know you didn't hand me over to Voldemort when you could've done, but it's hard to just dismiss all the things you did before that!" 

"I haven't forgotten them either. I have a lot of regrets about the way I behaved in school," noted Malfoy carefully. He mulled it over for a moment. "So, that's why you thought I cursed you. You still see me as a fifth year. You don't trust me."

"No," said Harry around a huge lump in his throat. "I don't trust you. I want to. I really want to. But I don't."

Malfoy looked up then. His grey eyes met Harry's, narrowing slightly as he took in Harry's expression. 

"You don't think I've really changed, not deep down." His tone made it clear that it wasn't a question. "I assure you Potter, that boy from Hogwarts ceased to exist a long time ago."

"I want to believe it," said Harry plaintively.

Malfoy stared at him, his expression betraying his internal struggle. Eventually he seemed to reach a decision. 

"So what is this to you?" he asked quietly, gesturing between them. "It's fairly obvious we want to shag each other, but you don't even trust me not to curse you...so is that all it is? A meaningless shag?"

Harry studied him, reading real fear beneath his haughty facade. It was that fear that made him speak the truth. 

"No," he blurted, his voice shaking with the thumping of his heart.

He clenched his fists then, waiting for the sneer, for it all to fall apart around him. He'd known it wouldn't last. He wasn't allowed the things other people were allowed, like parents, like someone who was there just for him; Sirius, Ginny...he'd lost them all. His eyes stung. It was all his fault. He'd treated Malfoy just like everyone else did and now Malfoy would finish his work for the Ministry and then he'd leave and Harry would never find out what could have been between them; instead he would be alone once more. 

Malfoy watched him, his expression softening.

"It means something to me," he said quietly, squaring his shoulders and stepping forwards slowly until he was close enough that Harry could feel the unique thrum of his magic. 

"You helped me when no one else would. But it's more than that. Much more. Now it's up to you if you want to believe I've changed, if you want to trust me or not. I am what I am and this is it, Potter; this is it." 

Malfoy gestured at himself, leaning closer until Harry felt the whisper of his breath on his face.

"The question is, will you take a chance or not?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it again, felt the scald of a tear spilling down his cheek, then another. He was so afraid. He had Ron and Hermione, Luna and Neville and other friends. The Weasley's had even remained his surrogate family despite his split with Ginny, but this thing with Malfoy was different, more intense, more personal, just him and Malfoy. To let it go further would mean admitting to himself that he had feelings for Malfoy. He would have to let the man in so close that any subsequent split or betrayal would be horribly painful, the sort of pain he wasn't sure he could go through again.

He startled when Malfoy's thumb brushed his cheek; he blinked furiously, but only succeeding in releasing more tears. 

"You're crying," said Malfoy unnecessarily, his other hand coming up to cup the side of Harry's face.

He was very close now, the soft skin of his cheek cool against Harry's temple as he pulled him in and wrapped his arms around him. 

"For the record," he murmured into Harry's hair. "I don't make a habit of putting myself in front of curses. It's not a very Slytherin thing to do."

Harry snorted, half laughing, half crying, twisting his fists into the soft blue jumper and inhaling the smell that was pure Malfoy. He pushed into the lean frame, holding him tight and letting his hold on his own magic ease to allow it to flow with the other man's. 

The energy streamed around them and Malfoy made a surprised sound of pleasure as Harry pulled him closer still, moving his hands down to gently massage Malfoy's arse. 

Sharp teeth tugged at his earlobe, words whispered into his ear. 

"If you're going to keep on doing that, Potter, you'd better lock the door."

Harry answered with a swift wandless spell that both locked the door and set privacy wards. Seconds later they were prostrate on a transfigured white rug, kissing with a slow desperation as Harry undid Malfoy's jeans and pushed up his soft jumper until he could kiss and nip at his cool, smooth skin.

Malfoy rolled onto his back, pulling Harry on top of him and rolling his hips up. Harry gasped, a surge of lust rushing through him at the vulnerability of Malfoy's body beneath his own, yet the strength of the man's grip on Harry's biceps.

He pushed his own jeans clear and jerked Malfoy's down as he obligingly raised his hips, then thrust his cock against the heat of Malfoy's. They frotted urgently, tongues deep in each others mouths, their hips moving in an ancient rhythm that quickened as their magic twisted and curled around them. The feeling was almost too intense and Malfoy's thighs fell apart, his nipples hard knubs beneath Harry's thumb as Harry raised up, altering the angle of his hips so that his cock dragged up and down from the back of Malfoy's testicles as far as his entrance, skating over the furled entrance with increasing force. 

Malfoy's gasps became sharper; his hand reached down, casting some spell that sent a tingling, cleansing rush through them both and coated his crack in slippery fluid. The sensation was almost too much and Harry cried out, gripping the base of his cock with his eyes closed as he fought for control. 

When he opened them, Malfoy smirked at him and flexed his hips tantalisingly before raising one of his legs over Harry's shoulder and guiding Harry's cock to his entrance. Harry whined helplessly, his hips moving of their own accord as the urge to mate with the man beneath him became overwhelming. He forced his way slowly into the ring of hot muscle, then deeper through further resistance until he was fully sheathed and Malfoy's lips were parted, a pink flush on his cheeks and his cock hard and weeping between them.

"Move Potter," he said. "Fuck me, please." 

Harry began to flex, a deep, slow grind that he was powerless to stop, every fibre of his being wanting the other man, his cock deep inside Malfoy and their eyes locked.

"I want you," he said. "I want to fuck you all the time." 

"Merlin! Yes..." 

Malfoy met each thrust with vigour, pre-come white on his belly, his fingers digging into Harry's flesh and his legs pulling him ever deeper. His eyes widened, storm grey and beautiful, pupils blown as Harry rode forcefully over his prostrate. 

"Fuck," he moaned breathlessly. "I want you to...oh...please Harry!" 

"I'm going to come in you," Harry agreed. "I'm going to fill you up and you're going to come so hard and I'm never letting anyone else touch you again." 

Malfoy moaned then, arching his back, eyes rolling up as he cried out, spurts of come coating their bellies and chests. His arse muscles spasmed violently and with a hoarse cry Harry jerked and shuddered his release into him in orgasm, the great waves of intensity nearly making him pass out. 

Much later, when they were dressed and ready to leave the office, Malfoy pulled him in for a lingering kiss. 

"Does this mean you're taking a chance," he asked quietly. 

"Yeah, I s'pose so." Harry stroked his hair and smirked at him. "I am a Gryffindor," he said simply. 

Tbc... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MysticKitten42 - you're the best 💐 This one is for you.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters, full credit to the original creators. These stories are for your entertainment and mine. No profit intended or desired.


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